#Damian coughs in tim's face again

[rubydubydoo122]

Damian, is sick, looks over at Tim. A very spleenless Tim Damian, walks up to Tim, and coughs in his face Tim: EW- what! Damian! WHAT THE FUCK! I don't have a spleen! Damian: Biological Warfare

[yannawayne]

ii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 11:15 PM - ???, Gotham City.

THE METAL DOOR GROANED as it was forced open, releasing a cloud of dust that sent you into a brief coughing fit. Selina chuckled softly, her figure silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the grime-coated windows. She stepped inside, her movements graceful, each footfall echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse.

"One of my safehouses," she explained, the door clanging shut with a heavy thud behind you both. "Secluded, off the grid."

The walls were lined with old crates and rusting metal shelves, their contents long forgotten. Selina flicked a switch, and a single, flickering bulb sputtered to life, casting a dim, yellowish hue over the room.

"We can lay low here for a while. Think of this as your personal hideout," she added, brushing dust off a table. "No one knows about this place—not even Batman."

You hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes scanning the room. The space had clearly fallen into neglect, the floor scattered with debris, and the windows fogged with years of grime. The overhead light flickered intermittently, casting shifting shadows that danced eerily across the walls.

Selina leaned against a stack of crates, her watchful eyes following you as you explored. She gave you a moment to take in the space, the silence between you filled only by the soft creaks of the old warehouse. Eventually, she pushed herself away from the crates, her steps almost silent as they pressed into the thick layer of dust that coated the floor.

Her hand found your shoulder, firm but reassuring, guiding you gently to the side. "Come on," she said. "I want to see something."

You followed her through the cluttered space, weaving between old barrels and rusting equipment until you reached a clearing. Here, the walls were less covered by debris. The area was bathed in a slant of sunlight streaming through a dirty skylight, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air.

Selina stopped and turned to face you, pointing to a wide stretch of wall. "Show me what you can do. Use those hands again."

"Sure," you replied with a nod, a faint smile attempting to mask your nerves. You shook out your hands, trying to rid yourself of any lingering nerves. "Seems easy enough."

You approached the wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You placed your hand on the cold, rough surface, feeling it grip back. With a careful lift, you brought your other hand up and pressed it against the wall, then followed with your feet.

Before long, you were clinging to the surface, limbs spread wide. You began to climb, your start slow and careful, but as you settled into the rhythm, your confidence soared. You ascended effortlessly, and with a final leap, you swung up to hang from the ceiling, a playful grin spreading across your face as you looked down at Selina.

Selina craned her neck to watch you, a glint of pride in her eyes as she applauded slowly. 

"Not bad," she called up, warm and approving. "Now, let’s see if you can get down."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the jump. Channeling the superhero landing techniques you’d seen on TV, you leapt from the ceiling, aiming for a smooth descent on your knees. But reality had other plans.

SLAM!

You landed with a jarring thud, your knees slamming into the floor with a loud slam. The shock shot up your legs, making you wince as pain flared through your joints. You let out a half-groan, half-laugh, collapsing to the floor in a heap and clutching your knees. 

“Oww, damn it,” you muttered, wincing as you rubbed your knees, trying to ease the sting. “Okay, superhero landings: they look badass, but they sure as hell don’t feel badass.”

Selina stifled a snort, a smirk playing at her lips as she watched you.

"You know," she drawled, "in real life, landing like that is a surefire way to mess yourself up." She arched an eyebrow, raising a finger. "Lesson one: don’t slam all your weight on your knees or legs. Roll with it and spread out the impact. Trust me, your joints will thank you."

With that, Selina moved to demonstrate. She climbed onto a low shelf, her posture perfect as she stood poised on the edge. With a graceful leap, she descended smoothly, her landing controlled. She rolled into a crouch, looking ready to spring into action. 

"See?" she said, brushing off imaginary dust with a smirk. 

You shot her a glare from where you were still hunched on the floor. "Okay, okay. I get it. No superhero landings."

Selina gave you an approving nod. "Exactly. Now let’s see if you can pull it off without turning me into a laughing mess."

"Alright, I'll give it another shot," you said, pushing yourself up. "But if I end up in a heap of broken crates, it's totally your fault."

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Training with Selina was a crash course in everything you thought you knew but didn't. 

Parkour was the first hurdle—literally. 

Each day kicked off with stretches and warm-ups before diving headfirst into rolls, jumps, and twists. Selina made it look like an art form, smooth and effortless like she was swimming through the air. You, on the other hand, had a style that was less about grace and more about grit—rough around the edges, but uniquely your own. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done. The city started to feel like your playground, and with every jump and scramble, you got better at making it your own.

Once you got a handle on the whole not-falling-on-your-face thing, Selina moved you on to flexibility training. Yoga quickly became your new frenemy. On the one hand, it was the calmest part of your day; on the other, you didn’t know it was possible to sweat so much while standing still. Then came gymnastics. Flips, spins, and handsprings made you feel like you’d signed up for a circus performance. You found yourself attempting gravity-defying moves that left you either soaring through the air or tangled in a heap on the mat.

Web practice was a whole different beast, mostly because Selina didn’t have much advice for swinging around the city like a manic Tarzan. The first few swings had you gripping the sides of buildings like a terrified cat. But after a while, something clicked. You stopped worrying about plummeting to your death and started enjoying the ride. Swinging through the air started to feel natural—like you were born to do it. 

Then there was hand-to-hand combat, where Selina decided bare-knuckle boxing was the way to go. Turns out, punching things with super strength was way harder than it looked. You didn’t just hit things; you obliterated them—cracks in the floor, dents in the walls, and one unfortunate punching bag that went on a one-way trip out the window.

And, of course, there was that time you got a little too cocky, tried to throw a fancy combo, and ended up clocking yourself in the face. That bruise was a harsh reminder that super strength was great—until you’re the one on the receiving end. 

Every one of these skills was drilled into you, over and over, until it was muscle memory.

Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were days when you felt like you’d made zero progress and nights when your body ached like you’d been hit by a train.

Selina had a knack for pushing you to your limits—right to the brink, but never over. It was like she had some weird sixth sense for when you were about to break—she'd pull back, giving you just enough room to catch your breath before diving back in.

There was something oddly comforting about it too, like she was slowly molding you into something more, even if she had to drag you kicking and screaming the whole way.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 4:01 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

5 Days Later.

Right now, you were in your bedroom, the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow across the room. The clock on the wall ticked towards four, and according to your new training schedule, it was time for yoga.

You found yourself in mid-crow pose, balancing on your hands with your knees resting on your upper arms. A YouTube video played on the floor nearby, the instructor’s calming voice offering a steady stream of tips and encouragement.

“Focus on your breath,” the instructor advised. “Keep your core engaged and your gaze forward.”

You exhaled slowly, settling into the pose with a growing sense of ease.

Just as you were beginning to settle into the routine, your laptop rang with a FaceTime request. With a quick shift of weight to one hand, you reached over and tapped the screen of your phone to answer the call. You nudged the video to full screen with your free hand, giving your full attention to the incoming call.

Damian’s face appeared on the screen, blinking in surprise as he took in the sight of you. His hair was tousled, and he was dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his physique. He was lounging in bed, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of a well-lived-in space: rumpled sheets, a few scattered books, and a delicate, ornate cup of chai karak on the nightstand. 

“Habibti. Are you... doing yoga?” he asked, a slight red tint on his ears

You tried not to grin too widely as you held the pose. “Yeah, believe it or not. It’s part of my new training routine.”

Damian’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. His eyes briefly traced over the tensed-up muscle of your arms, a hint of admiration flickering in his gaze. “Training? I wasn’t aware you had an interest in such pursuits.”

You hummed softly, stretching out your legs with practiced ease, each movement a dance. Your body, defined and taut, seemed like a sculpted work of art against the soft light filtering through your bedroom. Damian’s gaze followed the elegant curve of your back, lingering over every contour as if he were trying to memorize each detail.

“Well, Selina's been pushing me to get better. Uh... self-defense and all. It’s been intense, but I’m actually enjoying it.”

Damian nodded slowly, his eyes never straying from you. His usually steely gaze softened into something warmer, almost embarrassingly dopey, with hearts practically swimming in those steamy forest greens. He shifted on his bed, fingers drumming absently on the edge as he continued to watch, utterly captivated.

You followed up with a few air push-ups, grunting slightly as you bent your arms down.

The effort seemed to spur Damian more than you’d expected. His cheeks flushed deeply, and he quickly raised his phone's camera to the ceiling, desperately trying to hide his flustered face. He had always admired strength and discipline—traits he prided himself on and valued in others.

After a moment of awkwardly staring at the ceiling, Damian cleared his throat and adjusted his position, attempting to appear nonchalant as he lowered the camera back down. His attempt at casualness failed miserably. He was about as subtle as a brick being thrown into a window when it came to how much he thought you were beautiful.

“Well, I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t expect you to exhibit such dedication.”

You completed your set of air push-ups and settled back on your heels, a satisfied grin lighting up your face. “Thank you. It’s been challenging, but I’m making progress. Mom’s a tough coach, but her methods are effective.”

Damian’s gaze softened as he watched you ruffle your damp hair with a towel, the warmth of the setting sun casting a golden halo around you. The light painted your face with a soft, ethereal glow, highlighting the contours of your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. He shifted, lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, but his emerald eyes peered out with a look of pure adoration.

"You're beautiful."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you quickly cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice betraying a hint of the fluttering emotions you were trying to hide.

Just as the moment settled, a loud crash shattered the calm. Damian flinched, his phone tumbling sideways, leaving you staring at the ceiling. Incoherent shouting and raucous laughter spilled through the background, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of someone barging in.

“Grayson! You insufferable, blundering imbecile! How many times must I tell you to knock before you manage to comprehend basic manners? You’re a barely tolerable nuisance, a wretched excuse for a brother. Get out before I lose my temper!”

Oh.

You snorted and continued to listen as more voices joined in.

“Oh, Damian’s got himself a little video call buddy. I hope you’re making a fool of my little brother, whoever you are.” A tuft of dark hair with a white streak appeared briefly before the phone was yanked away, giving you a downward view of someone’s face.

Tim’s grinning mug filled the screen next, and he gave you a lazy wave. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Before you could react, Damian’s voice erupted from somewhere off-screen. “Drake, give me my phone back this instant!”

Dick’s head popped into view next, his blue eyes the only part of him visible as he peered at you with a mischievous grin. “Y/N! Give me the phone. I wanna say hi too!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, waving to the two of them. “Hey, guys. Glad you could crash my call.”

Tim shrugged, still holding the phone. “Sorry about this. You know how it is here.”

Damian’s voice grew louder and more insistent, practically vibrating through the phone. “If you don’t give me my phone back right now, I will—”

Before he could finish, the screen shifted again. The phone wobbled as Damian wrestled for it and Tim tried to pull it back. In the background, Jason’s voice cut through with a snarky tone. “No way she’s actually real. I thought she was just a figment of his imagination.”

“Stop! Unhand it! None of you insipid fools have any concept of how to behave with respect!"

Jason managed to snatch the phone away with a triumphant smirk, his eyes narrowing as he took you in. Among Damian's brothers, he was the one you saw the least. You wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember you. 

“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

Just as Tim was about to hand it over, Dick swooped in one last time, his face filling the screen with a very unflattering close-up of his mouth. “Wait! I didn’t get my turn!”

Damian’s screams and the scuffle of feet continued in the background. The phone changed hands again, this time revealing Alfred’s face as he peered down at the screen with a raised eyebrow.

“Say hi, Alfred,” Dick’s face appeared beside him, and the butler gave a warm smile.

“Good afternoon, Young Miss Kyle. I trust you’re well? We were all quite concerned after the incident at prom.”

You managed a small, sheepish smile, running a hand through your damp hair. “Thank you, Alfred. I’m doing much better now.”

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “I’m glad to hear that. Please take care, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Master Bruce sends his good wishes as well.”

Dick’s grin widened as he gently nudged Alfred aside and took back the phone. “See, even Alfred wants you to come over. It’s unanimous! Right, Cass?”

The screen shifted again, briefly showing Cass giving a thumbs-up and nodding. You signed a quick "hi," and she responded with a warm smile.

There was a final chaotic burst of shouting, tangled limbs, flying fists, and laughter before the screen spun once more, the sound of a door slamming shut echoing. Damian’s grumbling face reappeared, his expression a mix of frustration and relief.

“Apologies for the disturbance,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Damian. Your family’s just... lively.”

Then, squinting with a playful grin, you added, “Is your shirt... ripped?”

Damian glanced down, noticing the tear in his shirt for the first time. The rip ran diagonally from his shoulder down to his ribs, exposing the defined contours of his muscles beneath. The golden light from the setting sun danced across his form, casting soft shadows that highlighted the ridges of his physique. His cheeks flushed.

“Typical,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Damian set his phone down and moved to his closet. The aftermath of the earlier chaos was evident: a pillow half off the bed, books slightly askew on the shelf, and one of his katanas leaning precariously against the wall.

You whistled as he pulled off his torn shirt, admiring the way his back muscles shifted and flexed with the movement. Damian glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. After a moment, he retrieved a clean black shirt, slipping it on. He picked up the phone again, his face coming back into view. 

“Better?” 

“Much better,” you replied, still smiling. “Though I wouldn’t have minded if you took a little longer.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but his expression was warm. “Idiot.”

He settled back down, setting his phone on his lap, which gave you a perfect view of his arms as he leaned over. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly as he adjusted the angle, and you couldn’t help but admire how his strength showed through even in such simple movements.

"So... Is it true? Do you really have a secret redhead on the side?" you teased, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Damian's eyes widened, and he straightened up, instantly defensive. “What? No! Todd’s insufferable, and his only goal in life is to make me suffer. I would never—! I’m completely devoted to you. Their teasing is just a pathetic attempt to rile me up. I’m all in with you, no one else.”

You couldn’t resist, a cheesy grin spreading across your face. “All in, huh?”

“TT.” Damian’s face flushed even more, and he quickly hid his face from the camera, groaning in embarrassment.

You chuckled softly, deciding to shift the mood. “Are you going on patrol tonight?”

Damian’s face reappeared, more composed but still slightly flushed. “Yes, the usual rounds. Gotham never sleeps.”

You nodded, trying to sound casual despite the worry creeping in. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Damian’s expression softened. “I will. And if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

You smiled, feeling a comforting warmth. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 2:20 AM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

THWIP.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Selina taunted, her voice dripping with mockery as she effortlessly sliced through the webs you cast with a flick of her claws. “I thought you were better than this.”

The dimly lit warehouse echoed with the rapid sounds of your movements as you and Selina sparred. At 2 AM, the night’s calm had long since dissipated, leaving only the two of you engaged in a relentless back-and-forth. 

You grinned, focusing on your next move. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more. Just warming up!” You flicked your wrist, sending another burst of webs toward her, aiming to trap her legs.

Selina nimbly leaped over the webs, landing gracefully. “Warming up? You’re going to need more than that to catch me.” She charged at you, claws extended, slicing through the air.

You flipped away just in time, twisting mid-air to narrowly avoid her claws. You landed lightly on your feet. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly training me, you sure like to make things difficult.”

Selina smirked, turning to face you. “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” She teased. “Training isn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

You dropped into a boxing stance, fists raised and ready. 

“Easy? Who said anything about easy?” You shot back with a quick jab aimed at her midsection. Selina dodged with a bend. Unfazed, you followed up with a powerful cross, your fist just grazing her cheek.

 “Let’s see if your skills can match that mouth,” she sneered.

Frustration simmered, and you launched into combo of punches—left jab, right cross, left hook—occasionally shooting webs. Selina danced around them with cat-like grace. When you swung a particularly forceful uppercut, you shot a web at her feet. She leaped clear, laughing as she did.

“Getting better,” she admitted, landing a bit rougher than usual. “But still not quite there.”

You readied yourself again, stance firm. “Not yet, but I’m catching on.”

Selina lunged again, her speed almost blurring. You ducked under her swipe, but she adjusted mid-move and closed in with a sudden burst of speed. Her claws grazed your jaw, and you stumbled backward, trying to regain your balance.

“Damn,” you cursed, wiping a trickle of blood from your chin. 

“Learning yet?” she replied with a smirk. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

Charging forward, you fired a burst of webs that latched onto Selina’s torso. With a sharp yank, you reeled her in, closing the distance between you. As she was pulled within reach, you shifted your weight and threw a punch. 

JAB!

The force of your punch connected solidly with her chin, knocking Selina backward. She hit the ground with a grunt but was quick to recover. 

Huffing slightly, she sprang to her feet, brushing off the dust and massaging her jaw with a wry smile. “Nice hit.”

“Didn’t hit you too hard, did I, Mom?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice as you started to undo the wraps on your knuckles.

Selina chuckled, brushing off a stray web from her hair with an exaggerated flick. “Hardly. I’ve been hit harder by a wayward cat toy."—An obvious lie, you were a very heavy hitter—"But I appreciate the effort.”

You relaxed your stance, feeling a rush of accomplishment. “Just trying to keep up with you.”

"Is that so?" Selina said, gliding over to a table to grab a handful of ice, which she pressed against her jaw. She then slipped into a sleek, black jacket that accentuated her lithe frame. As she turned to you, her eyes sparkled with mischief, and a playful smile danced on her lips. “Still have some energy left?”

You rolled your shoulders, savoring the satisfying ache of a solid workout. “Yeah, I’m not quite ready to hit the hay yet.”

Selina gave a nod of approval as she bent to lace up her boots. “Good. We’re going out.”

Your eyes lit up, and you couldn’t hide your excitement. It had been days since she’d let you get out and test your new skills, and you were itching for some action. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yep,” Selina said with a sly grin, pulling a stray web from her hair. She tossed the ice pack aside, the cubes clinking as they hit the metal table. “Time to see what you’ve learned. Go get ready.”

You nodded and did as told. 

You slipped on a red varsity jacket—Damian’s from the school’s soccer team. He was the star player, but he never actually wore it, so you decided to "borrow" it for yourself. The jacket was oversized on you, but it offered that familiar warmth and carried the faint scent of his cologne. Underneath, you kept on your training clothes: leggings and a sports bra, still damp from the warehouse workout. On your feet, you pulled on your red, ratty Converse, their worn-out soles feeling oddly comforting.

It wasn’t long before you and Selina were leaping across Gotham's rooftops, the city below a sprawling tapestry of glowing lights and deep shadows. The cool night air rushed past you, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional whoosh of a passing vehicle far below. Each leap sent adrenaline coursing through your veins, the thrill of the city’s pulse beneath your feet.

“Keep up!” Selina’s voice cut through the wind.

On cue, she vaulted off a high ledge, her body twisting mid-air like a dancer in flight. The moonlight glinted off her jewelry and caught the sharp focus in her eyes as she executed a flawless landing atop a streetlamp. The lamp swayed slightly under her weight, but she held her position with poise, a smirk playing on her lips.

With a grin, you shot a web at the streetlight, using it to swing in a wide arc around the pole. The momentum propelled you into a series of rapid spins, your laughter blending with the whistling wind as you twirled through the air. Releasing the web, you pulled yourself up and off the lamp, flipping effortlessly before landing in a smooth roll on the adjacent rooftop.

“Nice moves,” Selina called out. She leaped from the lamp with a fluid dive, twisting gracefully mid-air before she landed beside you, her boots barely making a sound on the rooftop.

Both of you continued moving, the exhilaration of the chase fueling your every step. The city lights streaked past in a blur of neon and shadow, each leap and swing a burst of adrenaline. As you bounded across another rooftop, something caught your eye—a large billboard, its bright screen flickering with the latest headlines. 

The text burned across the display. 

“Gotham High Senior Prom Interrupted by Villain Connected to Sionis Crime Family: Chaos Erupts.”

You came to an abrupt halt, your shoes skidding against the gravel roof. Breathing heavily, you tilted your head slightly and turned to face the billboard, your gaze fixed on the glaring headlines. The screen flickered to a live feed of a stern-looking news anchor. 

“Last Saturday, prom at Gotham High was disrupted by a violent attack. Eyewitnesses reported a scene of utter chaos where a villain equipped with mechanical arms infiltrated the event, resulting in a brief but intense altercation. Several students sustained injuries. The assailant, identified as Octavius Burton, was apprehended by Batman and his partner, Robin.”

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you turned as Selina began to make her way to you, your brow furrowing with concern. You could see her fingers flexing at her sides, a telltale sign of her mounting frustration. She pulled her sleek, black jacket tighter around her, the fabric rustling softly. 

“Burton, a former professor at the academy, was terminated following inquiries into his activities connected with the Sionis Crime Family, an organization with known affiliations to the criminal figure known as Black Mask. Authorities are continuing to investigate the motives behind this incident.”

Black Mask was a touchy subject between the two of you, subtly pulling at threads of pain that neither of you fully addressed. His name seemed to drift into conversations like a ghost, stirring up the quiet ache of past losses—the kind that felt like a fresh wound, reopening old scars that neither of you had fully healed from.

“Have you seen anything strange lately?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction.

Selina gave you a sideways glance, her expression thoughtful. “Funny you should ask. I’ve picked up on some strange shifts. The gang’s movements have been off��more frantic, almost like they’re gearing up for something.”

“And what do you think it means?” you asked carefully, trying to avoid pushing too hard.

Selina shrugged. “It’s hard to say. They’re usually pretty secretive, but something feels different this time. Like there’s a bigger play going on.”

You chewed on your inner cheek, feeling a familiar tightness in your chest. This was the most you’d managed to get her to talk about Black Mask or any of the darker aspects of her other life. It wasn’t often Selina opened up about such things, and the rare glimpses she offered were often fleeting, like shadows slipping through your fingers.

“Have you picked up any solid leads?” you asked, tugging at the sleeves of Damian's jacket. “Anything that might give us a clue about what’s coming?”

Selina’s expression grew more guarded. “Not much. Just fragments and whispers. But whatever’s brewing, it’s got those boys on edge. And when they’re on edge, you know something big is about to go down.”

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety in your chest. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the courage to voice your thoughts. When you opened them again, your gaze was steady. 

“I want to check this out,” you tell her. 

Selina froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s connected. There’s too much coincidence here to ignore.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening as she took a step back. “What are you getting at?”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot in your throat. “Look, think about it. My parents died because of Black Mask. Then, this villain linked to him shows up at the prom. The next day, I wake up with spider powers, and my dad was working on spider-human DNA stuff. All these pieces—”

Selina cut you off. “You’re not seriously suggesting you want to dive into this mess yourself, are you?”

“I have to! It’s all connected somehow. I need to find out what really happened with my father. I need to piece it together myself,” you sputter.

Selina’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a disbelieving laugh, her hand coming up to her forehead as if to steady herself. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Kid, don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because I trained you for a week doesn’t mean I’m about to let you go and get yourself tangled up with the Sionis Family.”

You bristled at her dismissive tone, stepping closer, you waved your hands around in desperation. “But you don’t get it. I can’t just sit back and ignore this!”

Selina’s expression hardened, her protective instincts flaring. “You think I don’t get that? I lost your mother—my sister—too. I know how hard it is. But rushing into danger without understanding everything is risky. The Sionis Family isn’t just a petty gang; they’re dangerous, with connections and resources that could put you in serious danger.”

You took a step back, feeling the sting of her words. “You think I’m too weak to handle it, don’t you? That I’ll just fall apart like everyone else you’ve seen?”

Selina’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re implying!” you shot back. “You’re treating me like I’m still a kid like I can’t make my own choices.”

“You’re my daughter,” Selina said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “You are a child whose whole world was turned upside down with no explanation. You were left there all alone, on my doorstep. And I took you in because I couldn’t stand to see you lost and alone. Now, you’re asking me to let you dive headfirst into a world that killed everyone I loved and nearly destroyed me.”

You shook your head, trying to protest, but she silenced you with a raise of her hand.

“I know you're confused. I know you're angry. So angry about your mother's death. And, baby, I am too,” she whispered. “But you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t want this world to consume you before you’ve even had a chance to truly live. This life, it’s... it’s not what I want for you.”

“But what if this is what I want?” you asked quietly, looking back up at her. 

“You’ll regret it,” she croaked. Her eyes were clouded with something you couldn't quite place—fear, maybe, or sorrow. As she pulled you into a tight embrace, her shoulders sagged, the tension seeping out of her in a slow, painful release. “I see myself in you, in all the ways I wished I could have been something different, something better. It scares me because I know all too well what this life can do.”

The news report had long since faded, replaced by a garish commercial that blared across the billboard. The vivid reds and yellows bathed both of you in an almost surreal glow, distorting the moment into something dreamlike and distant.

The relentless noise and flashing lights felt like they belonged to another world, far removed from the quiet tension between you. You simply nodded, your throat tight, and clung to Selina, the weight of her words settling into your chest as you hugged her back, holding on just a little tighter.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday,  3:43 AM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

The newly bought alarm clock, a hasty replacement after the old one met its demise the night after prom, glared at you with its green-tinted screen. Its bright blue neon numbers cut through the darkness, each digit pulsing with impatience:

3:43 AM.

You were seated at your desk, robin-themed socks snug on your feet and a green blanket draped around you for warmth. The soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated your face as you pored over a labyrinth of links and tabs, your eyes scanning for any scrap of information related to Octavius Burton. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the computer and the occasional click of your mouse.

Both you and Selina had returned from the run just an hour ago, the air between you still charged with unspoken words. Selina, visibly exhausted, had offered you a final, goodnight kiss on the cheek before retreating to her bed. The weight of your conversation had clearly worn her out, but you remained restless.

CLICK.

You clicked through a few more links on your laptop, but the information was frustratingly sparse—just fragmented reports and vague mentions that led nowhere. Restlessness gnawed at you, making the room feel too small, too stifling as if the walls were inching closer with each passing second.

Your gaze flicked to the window, where the city lights barely penetrated the thick curtains. The cool night air called to you, a whisper of freedom. An idea began to take shape, stirring a familiar itch beneath your skin—the urge to move, to escape, to find answers.

You grabbed your laptop and closed it with a decisive snap. The screen went dark, but the soft green light from your alarm clock still bathed the room in an eerie glow. You slid your feet into your shoes and approached the window.

Opening the window quietly, you peered out into the night, the cool air splashing against your face like a cold, refreshing wave. Using your spider powers, you crawled effortlessly up the side of the building. Once you reached the rooftop, you settled onto the edge, your legs dangling over the side. 

Cool and refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffy room. You pulled out your laptop.

As you continued your search for information, the quiet of the night enveloped you, broken only by the occasional distant sound of the city below. It felt like the world had opened up just a little bit more.

With a click, you redirected your search to something more personal. You began scrolling through the company pages of Oscorp Industries, the old company where your father had worked. 

You skimmed through employee directories, old press releases, and archived news articles. You paused at a page detailing the company’s history. Among the names and dates, you spotted a familiar one: Octavius Burton.

The text described him as a former lead researcher who worked at Oscorp Industries for a brief three years before his abrupt departure. Huh. 

Shaking off your unease, you shifted your focus to a research site where your father had published his work. Searching for his name, you navigated to his profile. 

Scrolling through his list of publications, you examined the coauthors and acknowledgments. Your heart skipped a beat when you came across a paper that mentioned Burton in its acknowledgments section. It read:

“Special thanks to Dr. Octavius Burton for his invaluable insights and technical expertise during the development of this project.”

A knot formed in your stomach as you closed the laptop, your head beginning to throb. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but the edges were still blurred, the full picture just out of reach. 

Scowling, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the growing tension that had built up behind your eyes. But before you could find any relief, the unsettling tingle of your spider-sense flared to life. It started as a faint prickle at the back of your neck, quickly escalating into a sharp, insistent warning that sent your heartbeat into overdrive.

!!!

Your body reacted before your mind fully processed the danger. You snapped your head around, every nerve on high alert. A shadow moved in the corner of your vision, and in the next instant, a figure dropped down from above, landing with a nearly imperceptible thud just a few feet in front of you.

Without thinking, you sprang into action. Your laptop tumbled from your lap as you lunged forward, your fist arcing toward the intruder's face. The impact was solid, your knuckles meeting the side of their jaw with a satisfying crack. The figure staggered, but quickly recovered, straightening.

"What? Looking for some more?!” you growled, swinging another punch aimed at the intruder. But before you could connect, a gloved hand shot up, catching your fist with surprising ease.

"Beloved?" The familiar voice cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze, laced with both surprise and a hint of irritation.

You blinked and looked up to see Damian, clad in his Robin suit. His jaw was already showing a deepening bruise, a mottled patch of red and purple swelling rapidly.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, mortified. The realization of who you had just struck hit you like a wave, your cheeks burning with heat. "I—I'm so sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

Damian adjusted his stance, wincing slightly as he gingerly touched the sore spot on his jaw. “Really? Is this how you greet everyone who drops by? I’m both impressed and deeply insulted.”

He gave you a scrutinizing look, the white slits of his mask narrowing. “That punch—while forceful—was a bit too eager. A more controlled approach would be better. Precision and control usually work better than raw power.”

You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you... judging my punch?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk as he went on, clearly enjoying the moment. “And your balance was off. You need to keep your center of gravity more stable. Alignment and posture are key to effective strikes and maintaining stability.”

You rolled your eyes. “Brat.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Damian said with a self-satisfied smirk, adjusting his gloves with a flourish. “It’s only fair that I offer some guidance. A bit more finesse and you might have neutralized me more efficiently.”

Your eye twitched. Men and their egos, you thought, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Oh, sorry for not meeting your high standards,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your words. “Maybe next time, I’ll make sure not to punch the person who’s here to give me tips.”

Damian chuckled, crossing his arms with a grin. “It was a decent hit. You’ve managed to impress me. Think of it as a compliment. Most people don’t even get the chance to lay a hand on me.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, but the words lacked any real bite. Despite your irritation, you found yourself stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his torso, and burying your face into his chest.

Damian simply huffed, amused, and placed his arms over your shoulders, the warmth of his embrace comforting in its familiarity. Even when he was being insufferable, there was something about him that made it impossible to stay mad for long. 

“Why did you drop by anyway?” you asked, lifting your head to look up at him.

Damian’s arms tightened around you as he responded, “I was in the neighborhood. Curiosity got the better of me. And it seems I was right to investigate,” his gaze flickered toward your laptop, still lying on the rooftop.

You narrowed your eyes, not buying it. “Really? You just happened to be passing by? You know this is Catwoman’s territory, right? Seems a bit out of your way.”

“Tt,” Damian scowled, looking away as a faint blush crept up his neck. The tips of his ears turned a telling shade of red. “It’s not like I was actively searching for you,” he added, trying to sound indifferent. “Just a fortunate coincidence, I suppose.”

“Mhm. Sure, babe,” you murmured, reaching up to gently touch Damian's face. Your fingers traced a scar near his jaw with a tenderness that made him pause, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

“Idiot,” you said affectionately, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Hardly,” he replied, a subtle warmth breaking through his tone. Before you could react, he scooped you up into his arms with ease.

“Put me down,” you groaned, half-heartedly resisting. “I’m heavy.”

Damian’s lips curled into a smug grin, his breath warm against your skin as he scoffed, “Beloved, my bench press warm-ups weigh more than you.” The gravel in his voice took on a teasing edge, smugness bleeding into your ear. “Watch.”

Before you could react, Damian’s arms tightened around you, and with a quick, effortless motion, he tossed you into the air.

A startled scream escaped your lips as you flailed, instinctively shooting out a web. The sticky thread hissed as it latched onto the rooftop edge, pulling tight and catching Damian’s attention. His head whipped around, confusion clouding his features as he tried to make sense of the sudden blur of movement.

In the split-second of panic, you plummeted back toward him, landing safely in his arms.

Shit. 

Without missing a beat, before he could fully look back, you grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened in shock, but as you deepened the kiss, his surprise gave way to something else. His arms wrapped around you, and he kissed you back with a fervor that matched your own. 

After a few minutes, Damian tried to pull away, his curiosity still evident in his eyes. But you weren’t having any of it. With a soft, pleading whine, you drew him back in, your hands sliding over the contours of his armor. You whispered his name against his lips, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

Beneath the hardened exterior and the carefully constructed armor, Damian was achingly soft. The mere thought of kissing you, of feeling your lips against his, had managed to distract him so thoroughly that the facade he worked so hard to project fell away like fragile shards of glass.

Damian’s attempt to pull away was fleeting as if he were tethered by an invisible thread pulling him back to you. His hands tightened around you, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other pressing firmly against your lower back, drawing you closer. He swallowed the honeyed sounds slipping from your lips, savoring every breath and murmur.

Your hands roamed across the edges of his mask, fingertips tracing the ridges and contours, teasingly attempting to slip it off.

Damian’s groan of your name was a low, throaty rumble that vibrated through your chest. His lips followed a fiery path down to your neck, each kiss a heated brand that made your breath catch, as if he were etching his mark on you with every touch. 

Suddenly, the sharp crackle of Damian’s earpiece sliced through the intimate moment. His body tensed, and with a swift, almost robotic motion, he leaped several feet away from you, landing with a heavy thud. He straightened up, his posture rigid as he fiddled with the earpiece.

“Dam—Robin,” came Tim’s voice through the earpiece. “Eugh. What the hell is that noise? I thought you were on patrol. Are you seriously making out on the job? Redhood and I are getting an earful of... whatever that is.”

“Yeah, thanks for the front-row seat to the romance, demon brat. I’ll be sure to add that to my list of things I didn’t need to hear tonight. Next time, maybe give us a warning before you make me want to shoot myself.”

“TT,” Damian’s face turned a deep crimson as he yanked the earpiece from his ear with a grimace. In a burst of frustration, he slammed the device down, reducing it to a pile of broken plastic.

“Oh,” you said with an amused grin as he spun on his heel with a sharp, almost frantic movement and leaped off the rooftop in a swift, disappearing dive.

“Next time, maybe keep the earpiece off!” you called after him, the grin still playing on your lips. Damian responded with a speedier exit, vanishing into the night.

As the echoes of his departure faded, you let out a deep sigh, your grin slipping away. Turning around, you saw the web you had shot still clinging to the rooftop, its glistening strands catching the moonlight with an almost ethereal shimmer. Panic bubbled up inside you as you approached it, your hands trembling slightly.

Fuck. That was too close.

Taking a steadying breath, you carefully picked up the web, its sticky texture making your fingers feel oddly weighed down. With a swift motion, you tossed it off the roof, watching as it drifted into the darkness below. The night seemed to grow eerily quiet in the aftermath, each distant siren or rustle of leaves making your heart race with an anxious thrum.

You scanned the rooftop one final time, making sure no trace of the night’s events remained. Grabbing your laptop, you felt its reassuring weight as you turned and headed back to your room.

"I have got to be a lot more careful," you sighed to yourself, the words barely more than a whisper. 

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 2:19 PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

“...and as you can see, the rate of reaction increases with temperature, which in turn affects the activation energy required. Remember, it’s crucial to maintain consistent variables to ensure accurate results. Any questions?”

The room buzzed with the soft rustle of papers and the occasional murmur as students exchanged glances and half-heartedly raised their hands. A question from one of the students prompted Dr. Foster to shift to a new segment of the lecture.

You slouched over your desk, trying to focus on the textbook despite the monotonous drone of the lecture. The room felt stifling, the endless rows of lab benches and flickering fluorescent lights adding to the sense of tedium. Your pen drifted absently across the paper in your notebook, sketching spiders—each more intricate than the last. It was the third-to-last class of the day, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until freedom.

This was one of the only classes you didn’t share with Damian, and his absence made the wait for dismissal feel even longer.

With a sigh, you sketched a detailed spider, giving it a little mask and cape for amusement. The classroom’s buzz of activity continued around you, blending into a dull hum as you lost yourself in your sketches.

“You like spiders?” came a voice, interrupting your idle doodling.

You turned to find your seatmate, Morgan, looking at you with a curious expression.

Morgan Stark—her full name rolling off the tongue like something out of a high-fashion magazine—was your lab partner in Chemistry class and a standout at Gotham Academy. Top student, robotics prodigy, and the heiress to Stark Industries

You blinked, slightly taken aback. “Oh, um... yeah. I guess so. Just an interest.”

Morgan leaned closer, her chestnut hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. “Really? Most people find spiders creepy. What got you into them?”

You glanced at your notebook, where intricate doodles of spiders and webs sprawled across the page. 

“I don’t know,” you began, pausing as you searched for the right words. “They’re just… fascinating. I like their webs.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's pretty cool.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit more at ease. As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, students began to gather their belongings with a collective sense of relief. The clatter of backpacks and the rustling of papers filled the room.

Morgan leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a small smile. She tilted her head, studying you with a curious gaze. 

“What’s your name again?” she asked, her hand moving to adjust the glasses perched on her nose.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. After months of sitting next to her, you'd assumed she’d have gotten it by now. Hell, you two did tablework assignments together, shared notes, and even collaborated on that tough group project last semester. 

“You... don’t know my name?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Her eyes widened slightly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. The blush deepened, contrasting with the freckles dusting her skin.

“Oh, I know your name,” she lied horribly, her voice faltering just a bit. “I… just want to know if you know it.”

A smile crept up your cheeks as you gathered your notebook and packed it away, your movements slower and more deliberate.

“I’m Y/N Kyle,” you said, offering a gentle smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Morgan said with a smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe next time we can trade more than just doodles and spider talk.”

“Sounds good,” you replied, sliding your backpack over one shoulder and standing up.

As students filed out of the classroom, you and Morgan exchanged a final look. She gave you a quick, playful wink before turning to join her friends, who were already waiting by the door.

Walking out of the classroom, the hallway was alive with the usual end-of-day hustle. Students rushed to their lockers, chatted animatedly, or headed to their clubs. The walls were lined with lockers, some ajar and spilling over with books and personal items. Conversations and occasional bursts of laughter echoed off the walls.

As you pushed through the crowd, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from Damian:

SUGAR DAMI:

Beloved, I'm afraid I can't drive you home today.

I have soccer training that will extend until 5 o'clock.

You sighed, a touch of disappointment creeping in. Selina was out on a heist for the whole day, leaving you to your own devices. The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up in your apartment didn't exactly thrill you.

With a quick huff, you typed a response:

YOU:

No worries, I'll figure something out. Good luck with training!

You hit send and slipped your phone back into your pocket. Adjusting the strap of your backpack, you made your way toward the back entrance of the school. As you pushed open the heavy double doors, the crisp afternoon air greeted you with a refreshing coolness.

Stepping outside, you were met with a clear blue sky, dotted with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily. The sun bathed the school grounds in a warm, golden glow, while the distant hum of traffic blended with the cheerful chirping of birds. 

You made your way to a secluded corner of the school grounds, checking over your shoulder to make sure no one was around. With a nimble leap, you cleared the fence and landed lightly on the other side. Slipping into the narrow alleyway, your footsteps echoed softly off the brick walls as you made your way to the fire escape.

You scaled the metal steps with practiced ease, pulling yourself up to the rooftop. Once there, you rolled your shoulders, loosening up before taking in the expansive view. Your apartment was visible in the distance, but that wasn't your destination today.

With a final glance back at the school, you took off across the rooftops.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 3:25 PM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

The journey to the safehouse was quick, the cityscape blurring by as you made your way. As you pushed open the heavy doors of the safehouse, the familiar scent of old wood and metal greeted you, a stark contrast to the crisp afternoon air outside.

With a tap on your phone, you opened Spotify and selected a playlist, the tunes soon filling the room from the speakers resting on a nearby table.

Don't wanna be an American idiot One nation controlled by the media Information age of hysteria It's calling out to idiot America

Still in your school uniform, you took off your blazer and tossed it somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your shirt and tie, slightly rumpled from the day's wear. The warehouse felt cooler without the extra layer, and the air against your skin was refreshing.

Using your shooters, you spun a hammock between a few panels of the wall. You jumped onto it, the webbed fabric creaking slightly as it adjusted to your weight. The hammock swayed gently as you settled in, the rhythmic motion easing the tension from your muscles.

As the music played on, you bobbed your head to the beat, letting the lyrics wash over you.

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alienation Where everything isn't meant to be okay Television dreams of tomorrow We're not the ones who're meant to follow For that's enough to argue

Settling deeper into the hammock, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling idly through the latest news reports. The headlines were grim, detailing the latest string of crimes committed by Black Mask. As a Gotham native, you were used to the constant stream of bad news, but it still made your stomach churn slightly.

One headline caught your eye.

"Multiple Tech Industries Robbed: Black Mask Suspected in High-Tech Heist Spree"

You click on the article, your eyes scanning the details.

"In the past week, several leading tech companies have reported break-ins and thefts, resulting in the loss of millions in high-tech equipment and proprietary technology."

The article detailed the affected companies and the nature of the thefts. Wayne Enterprises had reported missing nanotechnology components. LexCorp was missing cutting-edge encryption devices, while Queen Consolidated had reported the disappearance of prototype energy sources.

Your brow furrowed as you took in the list. Black Mask was stepping up his game. He was gutsy, you'd say that, targeting Wayne Enterprises when Gotham was practically owned by the company. Maybe you could ask Damian for info. He might have some insights that could help you in your personal little mission.

!!!

Then there was a tingling sensation, a familiar prickle at the back of your neck, like tiny electric currents dancing along your spine. It heightened your senses, sharpening your focus as if the world slowed down for a brief moment. You turned just in time to see Selina swinging in with her bullwhip, landing on the ground with a graceful yet forceful thud.

Smirking, you raised a hand in greeting. “You didn’t roll. You know that’s really bad for your knees.”

“Oh, please, honey. Turning my own words against me? I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,” she said, rolling her eyes. She straightened up, her black leather suit catching the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows.

"Why so early?" you hummed. "Thought you were out for the whole day. Got caught by Batman again?"

"Caught? Please, I never get caught. I just let him think he has a chance," she scoffed, sauntering over to you, her boots clicking against the concrete.

She held a small, black bag in her hand and, with a casual flick of her wrist, tossed it your way. The bag flew smoothly through the air, landing with a soft thud against your stomach. You grunted slightly and caught it in your arms.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a little something I picked up on my way back,” she replied, leaning casually against a nearby crate. “Figured you could use a bit of excitement.”

As you opened the bag, you discovered a sleek, black suit inside. The material felt smooth and durable—definitely Kevlar. It was similar to Selina’s suit, but when you turned it around, a spider symbol was stitched onto the back.

“A suit?” you marveled, pulling it out for a closer look.

Selina smiled, lifting her goggles and moving to sit beside you. “I made it myself. Took a while to get everything just right, but I think it’ll suit you perfectly.”

You traced the spider emblem with your fingers. “I thought... you didn’t want me to go out into that world?”

Selina sighed softly, her expression softening as she watched you. “I was hesitant at first. You know how dangerous it can be out there. The streets of Gotham aren’t forgiving, and I’ve seen too many people get hurt—or worse—because they weren’t prepared. But I also understand why you feel the need to do this. It’s in your blood, just like it’s in mine. We’ve both got that itch.”

She paused, her gaze distant for a moment before focusing back on you. “When I first started, I was headstrong, eager to prove myself. I took risks, some stupid, some necessary, but I learned. This is my way of making sure you can learn the ropes without getting in over your head.”

"You're going to let me patrol?" you gasped out, a grin so wide it spread across the ends of your cheeks.

Selina’s tone sharpened. “Don’t think for a second this means I’m giving you free rein. I’ll be watching. One wrong move, and I’ll be right there to pull your little spider-butt back. But for now, consider this my way of making sure you’re ready.”

“Fuck yes,” you cheered, smiling as you hopped off the hammock.

She smirked, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, get suited up. Let’s see how you look in action.”

You took the suit and headed to a makeshift changing area in the corner of the warehouse. The material felt surprisingly light and flexible, molding perfectly to your body. You glanced at yourself in a cracked mirror propped against the wall. The sleek, black suit clung like a second skin, with the spider emblem standing out against the dark fabric.

Stepping out of the changing area, you caught Selina’s eye. She circled you once, then twice, before nodding in approval.

“Not bad,” she said with a smirk. “You look like you mean business.”

You smirked cockily, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do mean business.”

Selina raised a clawed finger, her tone turning serious. “Now, before anything, let’s set some rules. First, no killing—under any circumstances. That’s non-negotiable.”

You nodded solemnly.

“Second, stay away from gangs. That means no getting tangled up with Black Mask or his crew. They’re trouble.”

You deflated a bit but agreed.

“Third, avoid the Bats. Don’t go near their patrol routes or get involved with them. No crossing paths.”

“No patrolling on school nights – your education is your priority..”

“No associating with Catwoman – you can’t be seen with me in costume. It raises too many eyebrows and could lead Batman or others to figure out who you are.”

“So... I get to go solo?” you grinned.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I’ll be tracking your every move. Stick to small, street-level threats like muggings, burglaries, and assaults. No big jobs or anything that could draw too much attention.”

“After patrols, come to the warehouse first – don’t go straight to the apartment.It’s safer to lay low here.”

“And no mixing with civilians—keep your crime-fighting life separate from your personal life.”

You nodded, committing the rules to memory. “Got it. No killing, no gangs, no Bats, no school-night patrols, no Catwoman, warehouse first, and no civilians.”

“Good. Stick to those rules, and we might just keep you out of trouble. Any small slip-up or any inkling of suspicion from the Bats, and you're out. Got that?”

Her eyes bore into yours, glaring into your soul. You gulped and nodded again, more firmly this time. "Got it. No room for mistakes."

Selina gave a satisfied nod and tossed you a mask. You caught it and inspected it closely. The mask was sleek and full-faced, featuring large, white mesh eye covers bordered in black. Subtle, almost invisible web patterns were etched into the surface.

"You know, for someone who doesn't follow the rules, you sure do have a lot for me," you snorted, running your fingers over the webbing, appreciating the craftsmanship before slipping it onto your face.

“That’s because I’m Catwoman and you’re not. I know when to break the rules and play. You’re still learning.”

“Do I at least get a cool name?” you asked, adjusting the mask to fit snugly.

“The press usually decides that, honey. How do you like the sound of Spider-Girl?”

“Spider-Woman,” you corrected with a huff.

“Spidey might be cuter,” she teased.

“Spidey,” you hummed, rolling the name around in your head. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Spidey it is, then.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

dududun there's a stark

surely putting this child into vigilante work is a good idea

i am very sure spidey will be responsible and not at all destructive like every other peter parker ever

also! you fight like spider noir because both of you use bare-knuckle boxing

[millyhelp]

It all fell Down.

Jason todd x reader

warnings: mentions of death, blood, sad jason. read at your own risk. Angst shit.

Notes: I cried writing this. good luck. and yes, I wrote a super cute smut a few hours ago and now this puddle of sadness. Maybe I should continue?

please comment.

"Stay with me, stay with me..." Jason's fingers passed over your face affectionately. Thick tears of fear left his face.

You were bleeding. Your wound was deep, a bullet hit you.

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Your wedding. Your white dress was now red across the entire length of your chest. Jason's white suit blouse was in the same situation.

You lost blood quickly.

"It's okay." Your voice was weak and you coughed. The bullet hole had pierced one of your lungs, making blood fill it.

"There's nothing okay. Just stay with me, okay?" Jason sobbed and held you tightly against him. "Don't leave me..."

"I won't. I'm with you, right there." You placed your hand on Jason’s heart. His voice was low. Your lips were turning purple. "Jay..."

"Don't talk, save your breath. Look at me, please" Jason had never cried so much in his life. "Where's the fucking help?!"

Jason shouted, his voice broken by crying. The entire Batfamily was trying hard to control the chaos that was happening. No one had understood where the attacks came from.

"Jay..." You called him again. his eyes were heavy. You knew you couldn't take it anymore. "I love you..."

"Don't! Don't say that!" Jason shook his head. Childish sobs left his lips. "Don't do this with me!"

"Kiss me..." your blood-stained hand went towards Jason's face.

Jason would deny it. But he couldn't. Inside him he knew his end was coming. He was just being selfish.

His lips kissed you with tenderness and pain. Fear. afraid to lose you

Your lips were cold. A heavy sigh left your lips. Your heart stopped.

A scream of pain left Jason's lips.

"No! No! NO!" Heavy tears were left, loud sobs and screams. "DONT LEAVE ME! No..."

Jason shook your freezing body.

"Wake up! come on! wake up!" Jason caressed your face "My love, my princess. Come on, you have to wake up. Let's get married."

Jason went into a state of delirium. He wouldn't accept it. No. The only one who loves him the way he is, the only one who wasn't afraid of him. You were just sleeping.

"You chose such a beautiful dress for me, huh?" Jason's voice was broken. The tears didn't stop falling. "I can't wait to fill our house with kids. We want three, remember?"

Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Tim and Damian had managed to stop the attack. They did not identify who sent the shooters. But that didn't matter now.

A tear left Barbara's eyes when she saw Jason kneeling on the floor with you in his arms.

Dick, Tim and Damian knelt in respect.

Little Damian let a few small tears fall. Tears that no one thought he would ever drop.

Bruce walked over to his son. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Jason..." Jason ignored him and continued talking to you.

"Come on love, wake up. I promised to take you to London! We have to catch the plane in a few hours!"

"Jason." Bruce spoke more firmly.

"You're going to love Paris! You told me it was your dream to see that big tower! My French is terrible, by the way!"

"Jason!" It was Barbara's turn to call him.

Jason looked at her. Barbara shook her head.

Jason didn't want to believe it yet. He ignored her.

"Jason! She died!" Damian's voice was loud and tearful. Broken.

"No... not for me..."

For Jason it was just a nightmare that for him, he would wake up like every other time. But this time, it wasn't a dream.

you were gone. you died.

and Jason can't save you.

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Past, Present and that of Space

Masterlist

Dead-ends and Surprise Visits

“Alrightie, Duke your classes don't start for an hour right, LightBrite?” Duke snorted, nodding as he got comfortable pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Good good, should be enough time, ehhhh maybe we'll see, anyway!!” 

Harley snagged a cookie munching on it before she began. “Sooo years ago before I was a doctor and your daddio a crime-fighting college drop-out vigilante, we went to Gotham Uni. Bruce had been studying to be a Doctor like your granddaddy, so all of us had the same base classes. We actually had a study group and we'll as a ‘Fuck Professor Tanner’ club.

We met in advanced Calculus, I sucked and Brucie was my seat buddy along with Vladdie. After a bad failed test on my part and Professor Tanner purposely marking the others down, we formed a spite study group. I dragged Crane into it and Vlad pulled Jackie and Mads in! It kinda cemented our friendships a bit!” Harley snorted, shaking her head while reminiscing on the old days.

“Jackie, Mads, and Vladdie we're going for Doctorates in Science and Engineering. Jackie was more towards Engineering that was his crazy strong point while Mads and Vladdie were genius to boot. Would've fit in very well with your bunch now that I think ‘bout it! It grew a pretty decent friend group between us. Of course Brucie dropped out after that year, but Crane and I stayed pretty close with them. It was our final year when a lot of drama happened.” Harley sighed before grabbing her Tea cup downing it.

“The three of them were convinced that another universe lay parallel to ours. Called it the Ghost Zone, they'd been attempting to make a portal to it for months. Then the accident happened, it exploded and Vlad got carted off campus, didn’t see him again after that. He transferred out and last we heard he went to Wisconsin. Jackie and Mads were heartbroken, they’d been friends for a while at that point and losing Vlad made them a little unstable. Not ya know, rouge unstable but they started designing weapons to hunt ghosts. Caught some attention shortly before graduation and got a couple grants, they were really ecstatic. They left soon after we graduated, Jackie proposed and Mads said yes, went back to Mads hometown for the wedding. I got invited but at that point I was already at Arkham and well, you know my story already.” 

Tim stopped his note taking, looking up at Harley, who seemed slightly trapped in thought. He coughed slightly, breaking her out of her remembrance of who Harleen Quinzel used to be. 

“Ghost Zone? Huh? Weird niche of all things but ya know, we dress up and go fight crime nightly.” Duke elbowed him teasingly as he ate a cookie, and Tim rolled his eyes. “Right, right I forgot one of us is  a weirdo and patrols during the day time!”

“Oi! At least I don’t have an ugly ass cowl, owl head ass.” Tim gave him the dirtiest look, already calculating how far Duke dropped on his favorite sibling list.

“Congrats Duke, Damian has officially passed you on my favorite siblings list. It’s a sad day when two siblings drop below the one that has stabbed me multiple times.” Duke went to respond but was cut off by Harley’s barking laughter. Harley was bent over holding her stomach laughing so hard Duke contemplated running to get a cure for Joker Venom, but seeing the satisfied look on Tim’s face calmed him. Tim’s plan to distract her clearly worked, besides he had enough to work on now.

Of course Danny had contact with the Realms, his parents succeed in making their portal after all. 

Alfred hummed lowly to himself as he entered his bedroom for a short break. He set the tea tray down before pulling out both his chairs and sitting down.

“You were cutting it close you know, old friend.” He sipped his tea slowly before looking up at the person now sitting in the chair across from him. “You’ve set my charges into a protective mode that will lead to less sleep. Honestly the extra stress you’ve added to my plate with this stunt.”

“Apologies are in order for that, you know I should not interfere too often. Their eyes weren’t on me for only a few seconds, talking with Young Timothy was not possible.” His form shifted and Alfred hummed taking in the appearance of the elderly man in front of him.

“Your form has changed. I see you added to your family circle, congratulations.” Clockwork chuckled knowing he had taken some aspects from the kids he had practically adopted when they were fourteen.

“Indeed, not as many as your brood, but I am content. They have fine futures, fine futures indeed.”

“I see, and their futures are now intertwined with my charges.”

“Yes they are, we will be seeing more of each other in the future. Young Timothy will get along very well with my Phantom. They will be a force to be reckoned with.”

“Dear Clockwork, I believe they are on their own, together they could rule the multiverse.” Clockwork and Alfred were silent for a while, simply enjoying tea together. However he was the first to break their silence with a chuckle.

“I believe you are quite right Alfred. Quite right indeed.”

Dani typed silently on her phone as she sprawled across Danny’s back. The other Halfa too busy editing a video to pay attention to her. The others in their family were in varying places of Fenton Works but the two self-proclaimed siblings had holed up in Danny’s room. At first they simply sat staring at the ceiling, or rather staring into space, literally. After discovering Danny was the new Ancient of Space came even more power training that had Danny wish to rip his hair out.

Danny had discovered the ability to make a rift that could remain open until he willed it away, it was unlike portals that he needed to concentrate on to keep open. No those portals were Dani’s expertise, able to portal them to any place and even universes. Danny’s rifts allowed him direct access to space, and since discovering it his ceiling had been a constant show of the different galaxies that graced their universe. So often the others would come to call them for dinner and find the two’s eyes locked on their stars.

Val often joked that Dani’s love for space came from her template. Of course Dani wasn’t as crazy about space as Danny was but she still loved it. Dani paused her typing looking up at the ceiling for a moment before grinning.

“Danny, I have a great idea. Our next video should be in space.” Danny stopped editing mind racing between different ideas before his core was vibrating so hard in excitement that he was purring. Dani’s mirth couldn’t be contained as her body took flight lifting off him and towards the rift. “We could do so much!”

“Visiting other planets!”

“Space fights!”

“A day in the life with off-world species!”

“Jumping universes! People will lose their minds if we go to the ‘Futurama’ universe!”

“Oh my crown Dani! The possibilities are endless!!” Danny laughed as he took flight playfully taking the girl out of the air, both phasing through his bedroom floor and bouncing off the couch as they began a mini fight. Wes watched them amused as he paused his show, thankful he was sitting fully to the left of the couch and not in the middle. “Black holes! We can explore black holes!!” Danny announced laughing as he got Dani into a headlock only for her to phase out and land a hard elbow to his gut.

“Yes! Oooooh I want to kick you into a black hole so bad!!” We can cut the video there and the next one can be you in the Futurama Universe trying to find your way back!!” The two cackled together as their fighting amped up. 

“That is a pretty good idea.” Wes hummed, blinking as mischievous eyes locked on him. “Don’t even think about it you two.” He warned as they started grinning, he threw himself to the side flipping over the arm of the couch as they lunged at him phasing through and landing on the other side in a crouch. “Damnit!” Wes yelled as he scrambled up taking off up the stairs. The two grin as they jumped flying up through the floor to the hallway waiting to ambush him, only to be surprised when the front door slammed shut.

“Did he just?” Dani asked as she stuck her head through the wall Danny followed a second later as they watched Wes booking it down the street.

“He just juked us. Oh we gotta get him now!” The two flew through the wall, not even transforming as they rushed after him, waving to a few people who called out to them. Jack and Maddie watched them go from where they were unloading groceries from the Fenton Ghost Assault vehicle.

“Oh I hope they have fun hunting Wes!” Jack said with a laugh as Maddie slid a fifth bag onto his right arm. “Ah these kids keep up young Mads!” Maddie laughed leaning up and kissing his cheek as she grabbed the last four bags and locked the assault vehicle.

“Those kids of ours they really do, and they’re all growing up and breaking my heart! I wish we could have more.” Maddie said with a small laugh as Jack wiggled his eyebrows at her, Tucker opened the door for them as they approached and Maddie kissed his forehead in thanks as they walked to the kitchen. “Thank you Tucker dear. Are Sam and Val here?” Tucker nodded following them after he took some bags from Jack.

“Yes, they’re in the kitchen waiting to help with groceries. I was gonna let the other three know but Danny and Dani were having one of their bonding fights, then Wes got dragged into it.” Jack laughed as he put the last bags on the counter.

“We saw that! If it wasn’t for the groceries I had I would’ve ran after to join them! It's that Fenton blood after all!” Maddie chuckled, sharing a look with Sam before she moved over to the fridge starting to clean it out.

“And the fact that ghosts literally bond through fighting, it's like another language to them.” Val said with a chuckle as she unpacked some bags. “How about spaghetti tonight?” Moving aside the needed ingredients as agreements rang out from the room. “Sweet, is it alright if I invite my dad? He makes some mean garlic bread.”

“Of course Val! You’re our kid now and that makes him a Fenton too! The more the merrier!” Jack said moving over to pull out the needed cooking utensils. Sam was quick to take them from him, shooing him away while waving a spatula.

“I’ll invite my grandma over too. She made cookies yesterday and wanted more people to try her new recipe. I’ll make dinner with Tucker, you two aren’t allowed to make food anymore after those hot dogs took over the town.” Jack held his hands up defensively with a laugh as Maddie didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

“In my defense we didn’t know they were hot dogs from the Infinite Realms!”

“We came back to them trying to sacrifice Lancer, Dash and Kwan to their god.” Val said deadpan remembering the return home from their senior trip. “I smelled like hot dog water for weeks. I couldn’t look people in the eye anytime they questioned the smell.” Maddie couldn’t hold back her snort as she continued to not look at them. He shoulders shaking as she remembered the look on their kids faces the moment they stepped through the portal in front of City Hall. Laughter finally burst from her lips as she shook her head sitting on the floor in front of the fridge.

“Your faces that day!! You all, you all looked so done!” Soon everyone joined in laughing with Maddie as they remembered that day and the fight that followed.

“What's so funny?” Danny asked from the doorway Dani standing next to him with a slightly bruised and pouting Wes slung over her shoulder. Everyone turned to them laughter pausing for a second before they just laughed harder remembering when the biggest hot dog attempted to eat Danny.

Universe Hopping and Reunion Trip Planning

[yeetus-feetus]

Steph: If you could have anything in the world, possible or not, what would it be?

Dick: a true sense of belonging

Jason: to undo my resurrection

Damian: a childhood

Cass: agree with Damian

Duke: my parents

Steph: that- that didn't go the way I'd planned, we all need some serious therapy

Duke: yeah...

Dick: what about Tim?

Tim: hm? Oh a jar of honey-eucalyptus cough drops that magically restores itself so I never run out again

Jason: dude you have the money to keep buying more?

Tim: well sorry, did you want me to say I wish I had my spleen back or something???

Steph: you don't have a spleen!??

Damian: grandfather keeps it in a jar in his trophy room. *Looks at the others' shocked faces* you did not know?

Cass: I did :/

[jasmines-library]

The ‘Do Not Call’ List.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 15. Prompt: barley conscious.

Fandom: DC/batfam

Summary: After finally escaping your life one night without saying goodbye to your family, you find yourself in jeopardy, which leads to a well anticipated call.

Warnings: Blood, stab wound, near death.

Word count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You were bleeding. Heavily.

The weapon was still lodged within your chest. 6 inches deep it sat, dislodging your ribs which you were sure were shattered, and tickling away at your lung. You hadn’t seen it coming, hidden behind the back of the man you had been tracking. It was too late by the time you had realised he had it; he got you good before sprinting away.

You had tried to get out of this life, leaving those you loved behind. You couldn’t deal with constantly living a lie. So you left. Packed your bags one night, upped and left. They had tried relentlessly to get ahold of you; Missed calls, unanswered texts and even trying to track you on the street cameras, but you knew how to cover your tracks. Being trained as a vigilante does that to a person. You changed your hair and your name, changed your clothes and your hobbies until even you began to not recognise yourself. It hurt to heave your family that way, but you thought it was the only solution. You had seen the texts flooding in. At first, they were concerned, then they turned to anger and morphed into pain and fear once again.

As you staggered backwards, gripping onto your chest, you knew that you shouldn’t have followed him. You knew that you shouldn’t have, that you should have just turned and ran the other way like any normal person should have, but you couldn’t. You missed them. You missed Tim’s meek smile and Damian’s sarcastic remarks, Jason’s wit and Dick’s comfort. You missed collapsing in the study after a long patrol to curl up and watch a movie. Doing this would have brought you one painstaking step closer to them again. So, it was one more criminal.

The blood pooled around you as you cried out, sinking to the floor; a dark river of scarlet oozing from between your fingers. Coughing harshly you tried to apply as much pressure to the wound as your weakening body would let you. The fit only jostled the wound more, eliciting a cry of pain which caused you to fist your shirt.

That was when you suddenly remembered the phone in your jean pocket. You knew that you should call for help, but when you agonisingly slipped it out of your pocket, the number your bloodstained fingers dialled wasn’t the typical number someone would call if they had a fatal stab wound.

~

Tim froze when he saw the name flash on the screen; a name that he knew at one glance. Your name. He hadn’t stopped searching for you since you left them high and dry, albeit there was no sign of you. You had vanished without a trace. His late nights turned even later as he scoured the internet and hacked into the cameras trying desperately to catch a glimpse of your face. He was often accompanied by Jason, who spent his time calling your number or leaving you strands of unopened texts. He hadn’t taken it so well. His nights were full of relentless torment in the form of unsaid thoughts of you. So, when he strolled in groggily to take his usual seat beside his brother but saw your name on the screen, his glass shattered on the floor.

“Is this real?” He asked, ignoring the glass and crossing the room in two strides to reach the computer. Some part of him believed that this was some sick joke, but then the ringing stopped. And started up again moments later.

“Answer it.” Jason told him, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

When Tim pressed the answer button, they were hit with the sound of ragged breathing.

“Y/N?” He furrowed his brow, unable to hide the worry laid thick in his voice. A million thoughts raced through your mind at once.

There was silence on the other end of the line, before your voice pierced through the emptiness. “Jason?”

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“I…”

You were cut off by a coughing fit which caused blood to spill from the corner of your mouth. Both of the boy’s eyes widened at your wine of pain.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“What?” Jason was frantic now, moving around the cave to gather his weapons. “What’s going on?”

Your breath shook as you struggled against the pain. “I didn’t see it in time…”

“See what?”

“I’m sorry I left.” You dismissed his question to continue your ramble. You had to get the words out. You had to tell them. “I had to get out…I had to-”

Tim repeated his brother’s question, but once again it didn’t register in your mind.

“I didn’t want to leave. But it was the only way and I miss you. I miss you all and I need you to know that I love you all so, so much-”

“Y/N!” Jason cut off your rambling and you went quiet on the other end of the line. “What didn’t you see?”

“The knife.”

Jason’s blood ran cold. Suddenly your state made sense. The ragged breathing and the cries of discomfort. “Tim. get a tracking signal.”

“On it.” His fingers were already trailing the keys, working away to find your location.”

“Where are you?” Jason was tugging on his mask.

There was no reply. Just pained wheezing. Then the line went dead.

~

During your time as a vigilante, you had often thought long and hard about how you would die. And you supposed this wasn’t far from it. You had always imagined you would go down in a fight. Shot down in action while saving the city, or whilst sacrificing yourself to save one of the boys. In a way, this wasn’t too dissimilar. You did go down trying for the greater good. Trying. But you hadn’t imagined that you would be alone. You supposed it was better for everyone this way. The one thing you definitely hadn’t accounted for was the cold. It dug down deep into your bones, stabbing away like a thousand tiny needles. It made an odd contrast to the burning of your chest. Though slowly, you started to feel nothing at all as you began to drift into a numb haze.

Gazing up at the sky, spots danced between your vision, blending in with the stars that twinkled above you. Smiling, you watched them dance around until one feeling began to blend into the other, until there was no feeling left but the darkness of the sky above you.

At first, you didn’t realise that there was a face besides you, until you were brought back to reality by the stabbing pain radiating through your gut. You screamed, writhing as the knife was eased from your chest. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing his mask, but from the way that his hair was jostled, you could tell that it had not long been torn from his face. You could see the outline of his face in the light.

“Jay.” You whispered.

You could see his lips moving, but you couldn’t understand what he was saying. He looked panicked, speaking to someone that you weren’t able to see. You squirmed, trying to see who was near you, only to be held down by Jason.

Pressure to the gaping wound made you cry out. Then Jason’s lips were moving faster, and everything seemed to hit you all at once. Jason was calling your name, tapping your face gently. You could hear the murmur of Tim who talked to himself as he worked.

Your head rolled on a loose neck as Jason tilted it towards him.

“Stay with me, y/n. Please.”

Everything hurt, and your mind throbbed with your fast heart rate. It was hard to focus on anything with your doubling vision making everything swim around you.

You whined as you were shifted on to your side so that the younger of the two could begin to secure the bandages around you. You tried to focus on Jay, who had rested your head in his lap and was combing your hair through his hands, but you couldn’t. It was just too hard.

Your body began to slow down. Your eyes dropped and head lolled in his lap.

“No. No no no.” Jason was pinching you now trying to get a reaction from you, but your eyes only fluttered as you struggled to keep a grip on consciousness. “You have to stay awake.” He pleaded.

“Hurts…” you forced out, face contorting in pain as Tim continued to work and apply pressure to the laceration.

“We know. We know we’re sorry.”

“I’m nearly done. You’re doing so well.”

It felt like you were trapped in a never ending, agony filled cycle by the time that Tim finally finished bandaging you up and rolled you back into your side.

By this point, your eyes were spotting and your mind was swimming. You couldn’t even comprehend the pain. Your eyes fluttered, barely open a crack as you felt your mind wander, soon the faces around you blurred into the rest of the world and for one moment it was just you, consumed by the pain. And it wasn’t long after that until there was nothing. Just darkness.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 14 ⛤ DAY 16 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[brucewaynehater101]

I severely need Tim to get hit by The Clench a second time. I need him to cough blood and bleed from all orifices. I need him to get back on that medical bed and wrapped with a whole bunch of bandages. I want Tim to be on the verge of hopelessness because he doesn't believe he would make it. I want Bruce to be so firm in his denial, everyone believes his words as truth, making Tim super bitter on the inside but feeling touched that he actually cares. I want Tim to be on the verge of death, and Jason and Damian doing their utmost best to find a cure for Tim, but there's not enough time and their best doesn't feel like it's enough and. I need Dick to be his original, unhinged, rageful self on the warpath for whoever had the wonderful idea to give his baby brother The Clench a second time. I need Cass breaking bones and putting people on the verge of death because she's scared and angry and no one can stop her, not until her little brother is safe. And why Tim? Why not any other character? *grabs you by the face and squishes your cheeks* Because that boi is my blorbo and things need to happen to him

Tim barely survived the Clench with a fully functioning immune system. I doubt he'd survive a second dose... but that could be part of the angst.

Maybe he survives because Bruce already has the cure on hand, or maybe Ra's al Ghul releases a different deadly disease to take out Tim.

For Tim, I don't think slowly withering away in bed is something he can handle. He's meant to be up and helping others. He'd be so frustrated with his failing health, his constant sleeping (which loses a ton of time), and how his family hovers around him. He feels miserable (pain, fever, shaking limbs, vomiting, etc). He just wants to feel okay again. He wants his family to stop looking at him like that. He doesn't have enough energy to reassure or help them.

Tim is clenching the bed sheets as another family member sits by his bedside and confesses their regrets in case this is it. He hears the distinct pitches, tones, and defense mechanisms as they apologize for past transgression. With the way Tim's voice keeps sputtering into coughs, he can't interrupt or absolve them. He wishes they wouldn't do this.

He had forgiven them long ago.

Damian, a kid who's seen so much death, shouldn't be so shaken at Drake's frail figure. The sight of the person he's just starting to accept as his brother shouldn't cause the younger one's hands to shake. Tim has always been fallible (Damian has seen it when he pushed Tim off that dinosaur), but he's never been so defenseless and weak. The youngest Wayne can hardly leave his post at Tim's door or bedside.

[dairy-farmer]

Back to preach the church of my beloved! Civilian Tim! \( ^o^)/ rejoice!

You know who's LONELY? Damian.

He comes to the house of his Father to find not the titan his mother spoke of, but a broken man. One who is pulling himself together, slowly, painfully, with the help of his friends.

It seems SOMEONE ratted him out Clark Kent and Diana Prince, two totally random civilians *cough cough*. And they knew it was SERIOUS if an informant took the time to track down their secret identity. Pulled Bruce back from the edge as only his PEERS and EQUALS can. Yes sir, no emotional support Robin's HERE!

But... that is the problem.

The LAST Robin is now Todd. Who DIED in that uniform. Father is VEHEMENTLY against him wearing anything of the sort. All efforts to prove his worth only serving to somehow prove he is NOT worthy. He... he does not understand.

He takes Titus for another walk.

He is talking him for many walks, these days.

Accidentally wanders closer to a neighboring Manor then he intended. Wait... it's not empty? Aren't the Drake's in Peru? He checks his phone. They are. Then... who?

There, in the sunroom, is Timothy Drake. And he is BEAUTIFUL. Camera in hand, he has set up an artistic display, is attempting to capture just the right angle. Is made soft and golden in the light. Surrounded by lush greenery in Gothams otherwise bleak and stubborn weeds. He manages his shot. Face made soft in his little triumph, a private grin only Damian is there to witness.

Damian's mouth feels dry. His heart races. Face hot.

Everything feels different, after that day.

There is so much to LEARN.

Timothy is top of his class, unsurprisingly. A master of skateboarding. Has entered, WON, many of Gotham's Photography competitions. The compositions he enters are of course, exquisite. Damian studies all of it. His food preferences. How he takes his tea. What clothing he will and will not tolerate. His ideological stances. His internet history. Preferred camera brands.

Timothy is... is alone. Like him. Brilliant and unappreciated. The Heir made for the sake of an heir, who's Father's do not know what to do with them. The Drake's thought to marry him off, once. Before he came out. Are supportive but had no secondary plans. They barely had plans to begin with. Timothy endures.

They... they could be great together. Damian watches. Sees. How Timothy slips on his mask of social grace and affablility. A charming little prince. Perfectly calculated smiles and practiced PR laughs. Made to be loved by the elite. To be without flaw. It exhausts him.

Leaves stiff shoulders and aching feet. He could sooth them. Together, he could so easily imagine how they would lead this city to a better age. Him the Night, Timothy the Prince. Galas and bloodshed and Together. Never lonely again.

No one notices him watching.

He was trained by the best after all. And Bruce is too wrapped up in his drama to look. Damian... fixates. As only his mother's son could possibly fixate.

Tim? His attempts at dating end in abject failure. Every peer he tries to date? Some how their family gets exposed for criminals and they either end up in jail or leaving Gotham. A school mate? Gang or Goon, much the same. Dating site! Maybe date someone OUTSIDE of Gotham, he thinks.

Suddenly ghosted. Or they ALSO turn out to be criminals.

It's getting to be ridiculous.

It's like someone's taking out the competition or something! He throws back a drink in aggravation. Happy 18th Baby Wayne. Wooo. GDI he's gonna die single. Tim hides in a corner and sulks. I mean... what were the ODDS that the last one was a SUPERVILLIAN? Good apparently! Since this keeps happening!

Then? Oh.

Oh Baby Wayne Grew UP. Muscles for daaaays. Is that his favorite cologne? Huh, weird coincidence. Nice though. It's like someone tried to bundle every one of his preferences into one person. Aaand he's being DELIGHTFULLY manhandled back into a quiet corner~ Hello~~☆ Hi~♡

Damian? Here for his husband. They will be courting now. He has come to seduce you. Has everything planned out. Pick a season for our wedding and a preferred venue, he has everything else ready to go. Now excuse him while he eats you out until you cry, Timothy Wayne.

Drags you back to his bedroom and fills you, until you forget where you end and he begins. Fulfills every fantasy you've ever had and creates more you've dared not dream off. Desecrates every single surface we can find, until the whole Manor is painted with us. Then do it again in yours.

Damians long term plan pays off. He is an obsessive lil freak but Tim's deeply kinda into that. Does the AL Ghul name proud! Everyone else is horrified~☆

-🐼🐼🐼

damitim

damian obsessing over tim because of his emotionally absent father makes perfect sense!!

[wondersinwaynemanor]

that time when Diana visited the Manor and Jason didn't know she was coming over.

Jason: Dick, you fucking suck. *shoves Dick to the side as they walk to the kitchen* Why did you wake me up at this hour? I need my fucking beauty sleep. I have to finish the book tonight!!!

Diana and Bruce glance at each other as the two boys enter the kitchen.

Bruce: Boys! Quiet down. And Jaylad, language.

Jason finally takes in his surroundings. His cheeks turn crimson by the time he sees Diana.

Jason: OH MY GOSH! *coughs, completely embarrassed* Hey, Diana! :"D

Dick snickers beside him and tries to contain his laughter: Hi, Diana. I almost forgot you're coming over.

Jason gives Dick the "What the fuck?" and "Why didn't you inform me?" looks.

Diana: Good morning, Dears. Join us for tea?

Jason internally panics: Give me a sec.

Jason leaves the kitchen, runs to the nearest bathroom and checks his reflection if he looks presentable because OMG HIS FAVORITE HERO IS HERE AND SHE HEARD HIM CURSING???? Jason bites his finger to contain his embarrassment. Once he's ready, he takes a deep breath and leaves the bathroom.

Once Jason re-enters the room, Cass, Tim and Damian have joined the rest of the family on the table. He sits in between Cass and Damian. He is quiet as he begins to eat breakfast. Tim and Dick chuckle across him as they already understand why he's acting that way. Diana and Bruce talk about the gala that's happening on the weekend.

Cass notices Jason, gets worried and touches his hand as if asking if he's okay.

Damian: Todd, you okay? You look like you just read a sad ending from one of your novels.

Before Jason can answer, Alfred calls from the kitchen: Can someone please help me carry the Croissants?

Jason immediately stands up from the table and goes to Alfred to assist him: Got it, Alfie.

Alfred knows all too well: Of course you do, Master Jason.

Jason returns to the table and offers the bowl of Croissants only to Diana, even missing Bruce's hand that reaches for one of the pastries.

Diana: Thank you, Jason. *smiles as exquisitely as ever and gently gives a soft pat on Jason's face*

If Jason knew acrobatic movements, he would do one now.

Dick sees his younger brother's enthusiasm and he adores it: Wish you were always here, Diana.

Tim: Everyone seems more cheerful whenever you're here.

Everyone else at the table acknowledges.

Diana: Would love to be here always. If Bruce doesn't mind.

Jason blurts out: Oh, he doesn't mind. We love you being here. Right, B? :"D

Bruce smiles: You know you're always welcome here, Diana. *steals a glance at Jason who shrugs*

When Diana leaves, the whole table is chaotic.

Alfred: Good thing we had Miss Prince over.

Dick: Little Wiiiing. Looks like you're not upset anymore.

Damian: Thought Todd was gonna pass out.

Tim: He didn't even curse. Not a single bit.

Cass just sits there and chuckles as she observes her brothers banter back and forth.

Jason presents his middle finger but mostly only to Dick and Tim's direction: Fu-

Bruce warns: Jaylad.

Jason: Ugh, I'm going back to bed.

Once his children slowly leave the room, Bruce has an idea.

That night when Red Hood is on patrol.

Red Hood draws his gun from the holster and points it to the thugs.

Red Hood: Leave this city. If I see your faces here again, I swear I'm gonna fucking -

Before he can finish his sentence, the thugs are already running away.

Red Hood turns around and he nearly jumps when he sees Wonder Woman flying down beside him. He automatically puts his gun away.

Red Hood: Oh. Hey.. Hey, Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman: Red Hood. *she nods his way* Will be joining you tonight. Batman said you needed help.

And for the rest of the night, Red Hood didn't use his guns. Not even once. He's already planning the things he'll say to Bruce tonight. And yes, he's angry because a little heads up would have been helpful, but either way, it's nice having your favorite hero with you.

Batman smirks as he watches from the shadows: Problem solved. Thank you, Wonder Woman.

[crow-aeris]

More of TBUBF :3

(ft. cuddle pollen and Tim angst)

=====

Tim hisses, his body wracking with shivers and trembles as he coughs. Chalky, dry, yellow pollen coated his entire face and the front of his body. Gods, he was cold- he was so fucking cold.

"Wraith," someone calls through the comline, their voice wavering, "Rreport."

"...Cold," he whines lowly, his feathers dragging uncomfortably against the grass as the abnormally large plant loomed over him, "It's so- s-so..."

"He's in Robinson Park," Duke's voice filters through the line, and Tim couldn't help the pathetic calling chirp that escapes his lips, "Anubis, you're closest."

"I'll cover your route, Annie," Steph's distinct voice flits through Tim's ears, "go bring the birdie home. Robin should be with Seraph."

"I'm on the way," Bruce grunts,

He curls into a tight ball, a desperate whine peeling from his lips as he tried to rub warmth into his skin. Why was he so cold? It was so. Cold.

Where was Kon? Kon would help, he was warm. He was always warm... But wasn't he up north with Clark?

"Wraith," a steady voice calls to him, both in and outside of his ears, "Can you stand?'"

Tim tries, but exhaustion pulls unforgivingly at his limbs.

"...Very well. Seraph, alert Agent A and have him prepare the showers. Wraith is covered in Pollen C901134."

"Just say cuddle pollen, jesus!"

Tim hisses with irritation as Damian helped him to his feet, shame burning in his chest. He was so pathetic and feeble. What would his mother say if she saw what he's become?

"I will not call it by such an improper name!" a familiar voice huffs, hooking his hands under Tim's armpits, "Seraph, link the cave."

"You mean, the Batcave?" Steph giggles, and Tim peels his eyes open to blink blearily into Damian's eyes.

He flinches at the sight of emerald before falling dangerously quiet and still.

"Wraith?"

He flinches, a fearful croon building in his throat as he tilts to the side and purposefully exposes his throat and a low whimper.

Wings flare out to blot out what little light there was. There was a sharp prick against his side, a chilling feeling spreading throughout his body, but not only did the warmth not work, it only seemed to exasperated the chilling, biting cold.

A strangled wail filled the air, and it took a few seconds for Tim to realize that, oh, the wailing was coming from him.

"What happened?!" a distant voice, distorted by the fog in his mind, shouted in worry.

"Report," growled a low, thundering voice followed by the flash charcoal-gray.

"Wraith is incapacitated," Damian bites out, "Cuddle Pollen. It appears to be a new strain, seeing as the general antidote not only hasn't taken effect, but has worsen Wraith's state. He is delirious."

Tim whined, feeling like he was once again a small child, seeking comfort under red-white wings that were always out of his reach.

"He'll be okay, Robin. Shadow, assist Anubis in bringing Wraith back to the cave, understood?"

"Got it."

The world spun by in a nonsensical haze, and it took everything Tim had in himself not to keel over and curl into ball.

He hears voices distantly curl around him, but he was unable to focus on anything other than fleeting names. Then, he was set down on a cold surface, and the warm hands left his side.

Suddenly, the chill returned with a vicious craze, tearing and clawing at his flesh like an untamed beast.

He yelps, whining as a wet object was rubbed across his maskless face, and the overwhelming cold began to recede ever so slightly.

"Is he okay?!"

"Calm yourself, Jason. Timothy will be fine, he is hardier than most."

"I mean yeah, it's not always that someone dies and gets better."

"Mast Jason, I requested you not make these sorts of jokes, especially when the subject of is currently indisposed."

"...Sorry, alfie."

Tim takes in a shaky breath, his eyes blinking blearily open as he clumsily surges toward the closest person with panicked and confused chirps falling from his lips.

"Timothy! Everything will be-"

"Dam-" Tim chokes burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck, relaxing at the reassuring and comforting flood of warmth that soaked his skin, "Damian."

"...I am here."

"D-Don't leave," Tim whines, unsheathing his claws and sinking them into the back of his brother's shirt, "please... please don't leave... I- I don't want to be alone."

"I won't leave you. I promise." "P-promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

And with a shaky nod, Tim feels himself fall boneless against his brother, wings drooping in relief, and he falls victim to sleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, he and Damian would both deny the happenings of the prior night as something that occurred under the pollen's influence.

(Though while Tim forces himself to think his words were true- and Damian believing it as such- all the other Bats know better.)

[bat-mom-writer]

Sick Bat Bois

Reader(Mother) X Bat boys(Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian)

(I do not own any DC characters)

"Morning, Alfred," she said, her voice a gentle blend of sleepiness and concern.

"Good morning, Mrs. Wayne," Alfred Pennyworth replied from the kitchen, his British accent as steadfast as ever. "Has the young master settled down?"

The question hung in the air as she padded down the hallway, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the corridor. She nodded, though he couldn't see her from his position at the stove. "Damian's still asleep. The fever seems to have broken during the night."

Alfred turned, a look of relief etched into his stern features. "That's good news. Dr. Thompkins said it was nothing serious, but with Master Damian's… unique constitution, it's always best to be vigilant."

She couldn't help but smile at Alfred's careful wording. "Unique," indeed. Being the mother to the brood of vigilantes that Bruce had amassed over the years, she had seen her fair share of scrapes and bruises. But nothing quite compared to the challenges of raising Damian, the fiercely independent and stubborn son of Bruce Wayne. She had learned to navigate the complexities of being both a wife to Gotham's Dark Knight and a mother to his troubled heir.

Entering Damian's room, she found him nestled in a pile of blankets, his face flushed and damp with sweat. The digital thermometer on the bedside table read 99.5 degrees, a vast improvement from the 103 she had recorded the night before. He stirred slightly as she approached, his emerald eyes fluttering open to meet hers. "Mother," he murmured, his voice raspy.

Her heart ached at the sight of him so vulnerable. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "How are you feeling, darling?"

Damian grimaced, his eyes focusing with some effort. "Better," he croaked, then added with a touch of defiance, "I can train."

The woman chuckled softly, stroking his hair back from his face. "Not yet, tough guy. You need to rest and regain your strength."

Damian's eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a way that reminded her so much of his father. "But I have responsibilities," he protested weakly.

"And so do I," she replied, her tone firm but gentle. "And as the mother of this household, my responsibilities outrank yours. So for now, your job is to get well again."

The young boy's eyes searched hers, and she knew he was weighing his options. He was a Wayne, after all, and the urge to push through pain was ingrained in their very DNA. But he must have seen the resolve in her gaze because he eventually nodded, his body succumbing to the weight of his illness once more. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, feeling his skin still warm to the touch. "Rest," she whispered, pulling the covers up to his chin.

As she stepped out into the hallway, the quiet hum of Wayne Manor was a stark contrast to the chaos that often enveloped their lives. The polished floors reflected the soft glow of the early morning light, and the walls held the whispers of countless secrets and battles won. It was a sanctuary, a place where she could be both the wife of a legend and the mother to a group of boys who had all lost so much.

Bruce had left a note on the kitchen counter, informing her that he had to attend to some urgent business in the city. She sighed, folding the paper and placing it in her pocket. It was a constant balancing act, knowing when to be there for her family and when to give them space to be their alter-egos. But she had grown accustomed to the rhythm of their lives. The quiet moments at home were precious, especially when they were few and far between.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a cough coming from Dick's room. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was early, even for him. She knew that Dick had been pushing himself harder than ever since he had taken on the mantle of Nightwing again. Concerned, she made her way upstairs, her bare feet silent on the cold marble.

"Dick?" she called out softly, knocking on his door. "Are you okay?"

The sound of shuffling and then a muffled, "Yeah," floated back to her. But she knew him better than that.

Pushing open the door, she found Dick sitting up in bed, his chest moving in shallow, labored breaths. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose was definitely stuffy. The room smelled faintly of menthol, a sign that he had been trying to ease his symptoms in secret. "You should've told us," she admonished, her hand instinctively reaching out to feel his forehead.

Dick flinched at her touch, his eyes flashing with embarrassment. "It's just a cold," he said, his voice thick with mucus. "I didn't want to worry anyone."

"Well, you've done a terrible job hiding it," she said with a smirk, her hand coming away warm. "You're just as stubborn as your father."

Dick sneezed, a loud explosion of sound that echoed through the cavernous room. "Well, not by blood," he quipped, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. She knew he was trying to play it off, but the truth was written all over his face: he was feeling terrible.

"You might as well be," she said, her voice warm and teasing. "You're just as stubborn as Bruce. And just like him, you refuse to admit when you're not invincible."

Dick rolled his eyes, but she could see the hint of a smile he was trying to suppress. "I'll be fine," he insisted, his voice a little too nasally for his own liking.

"Aha, no," she said, her voice firm yet filled with affection. "You're going to lay down and let me take care of you."

Dick opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a stern look. "You're not going anywhere until you're better. Now, lay you butt down, mister."

With a dramatic sigh, he obeyed, and she set to work, bringing him a steaming cup of tea and a box of tissues. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the toll that fighting crime night after night was taking on his body. He was growing into a fine young man, strong and dedicated, but he was still her little bird, and she would always be there to take care of him.

"I hate you," Dick said with a groan, his voice thick with sleep and the beginnings of a whine. He took the tea with a sniffle, but didn't argue further.

"Love you too, little bird," she said, the warmth in her voice unmistakable.

Her next stop was Tim's room. She knocked lightly, hoping not to disturb him if he was still sleeping. But when she entered, she found him already dressed and packing his school bag.

"Tim, sweetie, are you okay?" she asked, her eyes scanning him for any signs of illness.

Tim looked up from his bag, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "Why wouldn't I be?" he replied, a bit too quickly.

Her motherly instincts kicked in, and she stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just checking in," she said gently. "You've been so quiet lately, and with everyone else getting sick…"

Tim looked up at her, his eyes a mix of blue and gray, so much like Bruce's. "I'm fine," he said, his voice a little too firm for his own good. "Just have a lot on my mind."

She studied him, the furrowed brow and the way he avoided her gaze. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"I'm good. Well, I better get going," Tim said quickly, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders and making a move to leave the room. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as she lightly grabbed the strap of his backpack, halting his escape.

"Hold it, mister," she said firmly, her eyes searching his for the truth. She knew that look, that forced bravado that so many of her boys had learned from their father. Tim was hiding something, and she wasn't going to let him slip away without finding out what it was.

"What are you hidding, Tim?" she pressed, her voice a soft echo in the room.

Tim's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink. "Me? Hiding? I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

But she wasn't fooled. She had seen that look before, the one that said 'I'm not okay, but I'm going to pretend I am.' She took a step closer, her hand on his forehead, and that's when it happened. His face drained of color, and without another word, he bolted towards the bathroom, his backpack swinging wildly behind him.

Her heart racing, she followed, calling out his name in concern. But it was too late. Tim barely made it to the toilet before he was violently ill, retching and heaving into the porcelain bowl. She rushed to his side, holding his hair back, feeling his clammy skin and the tremors in his body. The smell of bile filled the air, and she knew he wasn't fine. Not at all.

"It's okay, Tim," she murmured, her hand gentle on his back. "Let it out."

Tim's body convulsed a few more times before the heaving ceased. He leaned back against the cool porcelain, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged. "I'm fine."

"Fine my as-" She stops herself from cursing, taking a deep breath. "You're not fine. You're burning up," she said, her voice filled with both worry and frustration. "You can't go to school like this."

Tim's eyes snapped open, a mix of anger and defeat. "But I can't miss," he protested weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I have a test, and I can't-"

"Tim," she said firmly, her voice cutting through his protest. "You're not going anywhere until you're healthy. And that's an order."

Tim's shoulders slumped, and he nodded, defeat washing over him like a wave. She handed him a wet cloth and helped him clean up before guiding him back to bed. As she tucked him in, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Her boys, all of them, were so used to pushing through pain and hardship, to hiding their weaknesses. It was a lesson they had learned from Bruce, from the harsh reality of their lives as vigilantes. But it was a lesson she wished they didn't have to learn so young.

"I'm not very happy with you lying to me, Tim," she said, her voice carrying the weight of her disappointment.

Tim looked up at her, his eyes watering from the exertion of being sick. "I didn't mean to make you mad," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"I'm not mad," she assured him, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. "I'm just… disappointed."

Tim dramatically threw his arm over his eyes, groaning. "Oh no, she played the disappointment card."

The woman couldn't help but roll her eyes at his theatrics. "I'll never recover from this," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blankets.

"Yes, you will," she said with a wry smile, tucking the edges around him snugly. "It's just the flu, Tim. You're not dying."

"No, from your disappointment." he groaned, his voice muffled by the blankets.

With a laugh, she rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at him. "Someone needs to keep their strength up for when they're not fighting off supervillains," she teased. "Now, get some sleep, hot shot."

Tim's only response was a muffled grumble into his pillow. As she left the room, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Despite the circumstances, her boys were strong, each in their own way.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a whine that grew into a clear call of "Mommy!" from Jason's room. She sighed, her maternal instincts already in overdrive. She had thought she had a moment's reprieve from the sickness sweeping through the manor, but apparently not.

Jason had always been the most dramatic when it came to being ill. He had probably picked it up from the numerous plays and musicals he had been a part of during his time away from Gotham. He had a flair for the dramatic that none of the other boys could quite match, and she had to admit, it was a little entertaining, even if it was a pain to deal with when she had three other boys to take care of.

The door to his room was flung open with a theatrical flair, revealing Jason sprawled out on his bed, his face contorted in an Oscar-worthy display of agony. "Mommy," he wailed, his voice a mix of a whine and a croak. "I'm dying."

The woman couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dramatics, but she knew better than to let on. "Oh no," she said with forced panic, "What seems to be the matter?"

"It's my throat," Jason rasped, his hand dramatically clutching his neck. "It feels like a cat is scratching its way out."

The woman couldn't help but chuckle at the vivid description, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Come on," she said, her voice filled with the same mix of exasperation and love she had used with the others. "Let's get you some tea and honey."

Jason shot her a glare that was less than menacing thanks to his red, watery eyes. "Do you not care that I'm dying, mother?" he rasped out dramatically, his voice a caricature of a Victorian-era consumptive.

"Jason," she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection, "you're not dying. You have a sore throat."

He flung his arm dramatically over his eyes. "Same difference," he croaked, his voice thick with feigned despair.

The woman couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head as she approached the bed. Despite the chaos of the morning, she was grateful for the moments of levity her boys brought to the tension that often surrounded them. "Drama queen," she murmured, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. It was hot, but not as alarmingly so as Damian's had been.

"You're not fooling anyone," she said, her voice filled with affectionate teasing. "Now sit up, let's get some tea and medicine into you."

Jason's dramatics didn't waver as he allowed her to help him into a sitting position, his arms draped over her shoulders as if he were a feeble old man. She couldn't help but chuckle at his theatrics, even as she felt the tension in his body. She knew the pain was real, but his flair for the dramatic was something she had come to expect from him.

"Here," she said, handing him a steaming cup of tea with a spoonful of honey stirred in. "This should help."

Jason took a tentative sip, his expression morphing from one of suffering to one of pleasure at the sweet, soothing liquid sliding down his throat. "Mmm," he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed. "The elixir of life."

The woman couldn't help but laugh. "Keep that up and I might just leave you in charge of the sick ward," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Don't you dare," Dick called out from his room, his voice still nasal.

The woman looked up, surprised at his interjection. "What?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what," Dick said, his voice muffled by the tissues he was using to blow his nose. "If you leave me in the care of the drama king, I'm going to need an actual doctor."

"I have you know, I'd make a damn good doctor!" Jason retorted, his voice still hoarse but filled with a playful lilt. "I've had plenty of practice with my stage makeup skills. I can diagnose a fever from a mile away."

Without missing a beat, she smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "And I have you know," she said, her tone mock-stern, "that your bedside manner could use some serious work."

The sound of Jason's high-pitched whine pierced the air, a sound so ludicrous that it had even Damian cracking a smile from his sickbed.

"Why are you so cruel?" Jason exclaimed, rubbing his head dramatically. The woman couldn't help but chuckle.

"That is for your own good," she said, her tone playful despite the firmness in her words. "Now, let's get you some actual medicine, shall we?"

The day grew long as she tended to the boys, her quiet sanctuary transformed into a bustling infirmary. Damian's fever lingered, his eyes glazed over with fatigue and a stubbornness that mirrored his father's. Dick's cold clung to him with the tenacity of a cat burglar to a wall, and Tim's flu symptoms grew more pronounced with each passing hour. Jason, on the other hand, reveled in the attention, his theatrics never waning despite his sore throat.

In between doses of medicine and cups of tea, she tried to keep the mood light. They watched movies, played board games, and even managed to get a few laughs out of the situation. She knew that beneath the bravado and the jokes, her sons were worried about each other, about the city they felt responsible for, and about their father's secret life as Batman. But for now, they were just kids, sick and in need of care.

[rubydubydoo122]

In every universe Jason Peter Todd dies young. It’s a fate sealed across the multiverse. Maybe he could hope that there’s one universe where he doesn’t. aka, Jason, Dick, and Bruce go multiverse hopping, and are not having a fun time. (Ps, when I started writing this fic I hced Jason as Latino, but I don't really believe in that hc anymore, so just a heads up if you don't like that hc)

TRIGGER WARNING -> Child Death, (It's Jason)

If only both Dick and Bruce didn’t have the same idea to shove Jason out of the way from opposite sides. Maybe he would’ve still gotten hit with the device, but at least both of his shoulders wouldn’t have been bruised. They were fighting Black Mask and his posse who  had gotten ahold of a transportation device. And that’s what Jason got hit with. Because certain people (Cough, Batman– past, present and otherwise, Cough) refused to communicate. 

Right. Bearings. Then head back to Gotham. 

Ah shit. Of course he was stranded with Bruce and Dick. Of course.

They need to get back to Gotham. Tim, Damian and Cass were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but after they finish the fight, they’re going to start spiraling. Because Bruce and Dick are gone. 

“Nightwing, Batman, wake up.” He lightly shook their shoulders, while looking around. They were in a warehouse, with a bunch of crates in it. He could hear people walking around, but they were pretty hidden where they were. “We gotta get back to Gotham. They’re all gonna think we’re dead again.” The setup of the wearhouse was eerily familiar. The sooner they got out the better. 

He ducked the twin reflex punches from both of them and gave them a deadpan glare. Not that it could be seen through his helmet. The sentiment still stands.

Bruce grunted, “Status.”

“A little nauseous, but other than that, fine. Hood?”

“Sore shoulders from both of you ramming into me.” He peeked over the crate they were hiding behind–

No. 

His heart crept up into his throat, pulse pounding like a drum in his ears

They can’t be here. How were they here? Now? At this point in time? She couldn’t still be here.

He ducked back down, “Br-atman, We’ve gotta go.” As if on cue, there was a cackle.

Jason didn’t even see the monster, just her . 

Dick set himself in determination, then popped up to get a look himself,  “Besides the Joker it’s just three people. No hostages.”

Jason barely heard what he said. He just had to focus on taking off his jacket without his hands shaking, to hand to Dick. Of all the places to be sent back to, why here?

 He took off his helmet and domino and tore off the Bat on his chest, handing them to Bruce, “STT-1.” Situation time travel- past. Meaning they couldn’t interfere. Which sucks because, ya know, Jason was about to die. 

He turned to Dick, mainly because he didn’t want to see the expression Bruce was making, “You’re off world. You’re also in your deep V-Neck era, so…” he made a zipper motion.

Dick’s face paled in realization, “No.”

“Dick–”

“No! We can’t just let you die.” 

Jason looked to Bruce, because he was certain he was going to say something like ‘We can’t mess with the timeline,’ but Bruce just seemed frozen.

Jesus Christ, why does he have to be the level headed one for his own death. And he was seconds away from a panic attack. “I’ll come back.” Though he could feel his stomach twist. Knowing you’re going to come back doesn’t make watching yourself die any better. “There aren’t any windows and only one door, but they’re gonna be near the door, so I say we go up.” he reached for his grapple.

Bruce rested a hand on his elbow, but before he could say anything, Jason cut him off. “I-I don’t–” His voice cracked, “You don’t want to watch this.” because if he did, if Jason did, he would need at least four to five weeks to recover, and they didn’t have that time. They needed to get back. The longer they stayed, the more ripples they made. He’s watched ‘Back to the Future’ enough times to know that much. 

God he wished Tim was here. He’d at least be better at compartmentalizing this whole situation than anyone here. They were all too emotionally involved. They were all too close to a boy who was about to be dead.

Bruce nodded, like his mind was in another place, but then grabbed his grapple and shot up to the ceiling. 

Jason waited to watch Dick do the same, before following. Bruce was already out of the hole he had made in the roof, but he could hear the door opening below, and clammered after Dick. They had to hurry, because a smaller Jason was about to come in, stage right.

“Mom.” 

Jason grabbed Dick in one hand and Bruce in the other and tugged them down and out of sight.

“Jason?”

He knew the conversation by heart. It’s the lines that repeat over and over and over again in his brain. It’s the sounds he hears when he wakes up from nightmares. Not the sound of a crowbar meeting skin, or the sound of laughter, but the sound of betrayal.

“You’ve got big trouble, mom. I know about it… the Joker… everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, mom! Play straight with me! I can help you.”

“Sure, tell me about it.”

Don’t. Don’t, You idiot. Don’t tell her. 

There was the sound of a zipper being undone, “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”“That… That outfit… you’re…” He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up, as his mother put the puzzle pieces together. As she figured a way out for herself. “Come with me.”  

He felt Dick’s grip tighten on his hand, as if holding onto him would stop a 15 year old him from walking into that warehouse. Yet the touch felt miles away. Galaxies, even. 

“Wait! The Joker–”

“Is long gone. There’s nothing to worry about, but I’ve got something to show you.” 

Even in the heat of the desert, Jason felt his blood run cold. There was a static in his ears, and the floor started to spin. He was such a stupid kid. 

God this sucks. He has more trauma than this moment. He’s worked through this trauma. Especially after Damian’s death. So why does it still feel like someone’s pouring acid on a stab wound?

Bruce’s hand slipped out of Jason’s as he bolted back towards the hole in the roof, but Dick grabbed his cape before Bruce could drop in. “Bruce, we can’t–”

“Why not? I can save him this time!”

He could hear them talking about embezzlement below. He could hear the obnoxious laughter as the butt of a pistol hit his face. He could feel skin on skin as the goons three times his size beat him up. 

“Because this Jason needs you more.”

He could feel metal against skin. The numbness of the initial hit, followed by the bone deep pain aching across his entire body. “What hurts more? A” crack,  “or B?” thwack, “Forehand,” pop, “Or Backhand?” There was laughter. Just laughter.

“Jason, you need to breathe.” Bruce’s hand supported his right hand from the bottom, “In…” Bruce gently folded each of Jason’s fingers until his hand was in a fist, “and out…” he traced each finger while unraveling them. “In…” Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, “and out…” Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. “In…” fold fold fold fold fold “and out…” open open open open open.

“Jason! You’re still alive!”

Jason shook his head. This is not the time for a panic attack. He could do that later. Preferably in the safety of his own apartment. With no one else around to see it. “We’ve gotta move. The bomb’s gonna go off. Two minutes.”

Dick had that look on his face, but turned towards Bruce “B, which way do you come from?”

He looks out in the distance towards a red truck. Dick started towards the opposite direction, shooting his grapple to slow his fall, but Bruce was still looking at the truck.

Jason gripped Bruce’s elbow and pulled him along in the direction Dick went in, “ Gotta get you outta here .” Below, his younger self was echoing the phrase to Sheila.

Lovely juxtaposition. 

Bruce seemed to snap out of it as they swung down, the only thing pushing them forwards was instinct. There was heat pulsing on the back of his neck as darkness engulfed him. His ears rang as the explosion sounded, sending them tumbling.

A weight was holding him down. He could only see darkness. The smell of smoke was wrapping around his throat like a noose. 

He was dying. 

He was dying again . 

Yet, he wasn’t. He could still breathe. The darkness and weight weren’t suffocating, they were familiar. He didn’t realize he was that acquainted with Death. 

No, wait. He’s not dead. He’s breathing. He’s not choking. His lungs aren’t filled with blood. He’s not dying.

The Darkness unraveled around him, and he felt fingers on his wrist. Then his neck. He was looking at a face. He was looking at Bruce, who was searching him head to toe for any injury “Bruce, I’m ok.” 

His ears were ringing though. He didn’t know if it was the explosion, or the panic attack from earlier, but he wants the ringing to stop. He wants to hear whatever threat might come their way.

He pushed Bruce’s hands away, and went to stand so he could assess their surroundings, but was immediately knocked off balance by Dick fussing over him. He swatted him away, “I’m fine.”

The warehouse wasn’t even close to looking like a warehouse anymore. Of course he’s seen it since he’s died, but freshly exploded the building looked… not promising for anyone who was inside. It wasn’t. Anyone who was inside during the explosion was dead.

“Jason! Where are you!”  

It was Bruce, but it sounded farther away than the Bruce that was right next to him. 

His legs started moving forwards without his permission. Until the smell of smoke was too strong. Until he could feel the heat radiating off the rebar. Until…

Until he saw himself. 

Bloody, bruised, burnt. Facedown, weezing, bent at different angles. At 15 he was smaller than Damian was at 12. 

Jason remembered being all alone in his final moments. Knowing Bruce would come, but he’d be too late. Even though he knew Bruce would be too late, he still hoped. He hoped someone would be there to lay him gently to rest.

He found himself on his knees. Next to the young Robin, brushing hair behind his ear. He heard Robin's breath stutter until another rasp overtook him. Mami used to do it when the days weren’t good, but they weren’t bad. Back when he’d go with her while she’d get her cancer treatments. He’d sit in her lap while she brushed his hair behind his ear, and read to him.

Jason focused on the cross that had spilled out from under his Robin suit. “To heaven's gates we wish to fly, out of this world across the sky; To heaven's gates our souls are seeking; the angel's lyres and voices speaking.” He heard gravel crunching behind him, knowing it was Bruce and Dick he continued “To heaven's gates our lifelong journey; not through these halls atop a gurney.

“To heaven's gates you start to weep; reminded I was never yours to keep. To heaven's gates why mourn with sorrow? Morning shall come, there will be a tomorrow. To heaven's gates I view their glory; glancing behind I close my story.” 

He hears the last exhale, and knows. He can feel it in his soul. He knew when his own time was up. When all he could feel was pain, and then the pain suddenly went away. He knew his time was up. He knew there was nothing he could do. “At heaven's gates I find myself; not bruised, not broken, nor on the shelf. At heaven's gates I hear you cry and remind you: this isn't really goodbye.” He gently tucked the cross back into Robin’s suit, and placed a kiss on his forehead. “May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life.”

He stood up and turned back to see Dick with tears painting his face, and Bruce who looked shell shocked.

He heard the other Bruce’s footsteps stagger closer, so he dove behind the nearest piece of rubble. 

“Jason?” Bruce reached out for Little Jason’s wrist. For his pulse. “No. No.” Bruce pulled him up, but he was limp in his arms, “Jay? Lad. It’s ok, it’s ok. It’s just me. It’s Bruce. You can stop pretending.” Bruce’s fingers frantically searched little Jay’s neck. Trying to find something that wouldn’t be there “The Joker is gone. You can wake up now.” He cradled him close. Hand supporting his neck like an infant “ Jason, please.” His voice was dangerously wet, “You can’t be gone. You can’t. You can’t. You haven’t finished— you’re not done with— you can’t be done— you have so much more left—” There were shutters throughout Bruce’s body, causing little Jay’s arm to fall out from where he was cradled close. Bruce couldn’t be crying though. Batman couldn’t be crying. Not for him “ Jason… my boy… my son, please. Come back. Come back. I can’t lose you. Please.”

Jason had to turn away. He had to. This wasn’t for him to see. It was for a boy who was now dead.

Everything around them turned too bright. Like they were put into a room where all the walls and the floors were made out of fluorescent lights. Then they were in an alley. A very Gotham looking alley. Covered in snow.

He was regretting giving Dick his jacket, but oh well. 

There was the sound of retching, and when he looked over, Dick was kneeling by a corner of a dumpster, and Bruce had a hand on his back. Except he was staring directly at Jason. 

So, naturally, Jason looked everywhere but Bruce.

Actually, this Alley looked very familiar. It looked a lot like the one he used to squat in when he was freshly homeless. He’s pretty sure if he rounded the dumpster to where Dick and Bruce were, he would find his old shelter of trash bags and cardboard boxes. 

Hold up. 

It’s May in their Gotham. It’s not supposed to be snowing. And they had traveled back. And the super bright light felt the same as the original ray that had sent them back. 

“‘Wing, B–”

“Oh no.” Dick was apparently done throwing up, and was now rustling through the pile, “Kiddo? Can you hear–” There was a sharp inhale, “ Jason?”

“Dick,” He grabbed his elbow to stop him from engulfing his younger self in a hug for warmth. “Dick we’ve gotta go.”

He ripped his arm from Jason’s grasp, and leveled him with an incredulous look, “You’re going to freeze to death.”

Bruce and Dick already somewhat knew. They had assumed, which was rude, because you don’t assume something like that about someone. Besides, he did it because he had to do it. Otherwise he would have frozen to death. And it was only for this winter. He was hiding out in an abandoned apartment building for the rest of the time he was ‘homeless’. “Some…someone comes by.” He shivered and crossed his arms to retain warmth. He hates the cold.

If Dick or Bruce said anything, Jason couldn’t hear them. His ears were still ringing from the blast for some reason.

He shook his head and looked to Bruce for a plan. Except Bruce was still looking at him like he was a ghost. 

Maybe Jason should also be a little shell shocked, but honestly, he could never forget that day. If he’s left alone to think long enough, it’s the only thing he can think of. How he shouldn’t have gone after his Mother. How he shouldn’t have trusted her word. How he shouldn’t have allowed himself to hope that there was someone who would give him unconditional love.

Even Bruce’s love was probably conditional to an extent. He loved Robin, not Jason. And the mission would always come first. Batman would always come first.

Obviously, currently, Batman wasn’t in control, Bruce was trying to grab for the steering wheel, because he was obviously debating actually talking about emotions or repressing them forever and ever and ever. 

Jason groaned, they need a plan of action, “Looks like we keep going further and further into the p-past.” His teeth chattered “I want my Jacket back. You two need civies. T-there’s a Goodwill down the block.” 

Dick unzipped the jacket and handed it to Jason, while slipping under Batman’s cape. 

“Go up, I’ll meet you two on the third story. We were in the other time for like… two hours right? A bit more than that?” It was weird to think how long the Joker took to beat the living shit out of him. It somehow felt simultaneously like seconds and years.

Dick nodded, and reached to his ear, “but switch to line two. Just in case”

Jason reached up to his com to do that, “Can’t believe Mr. Paranoid still uses the same frequency from over 10 years ago.”

Dick snorted, “Not gonna defend yourself, B?”

Bruce just looked at Jason, long and thoughtful. He needed to stop staring. Yes, Jason understood that he was Bruce’s biggest failure. No need to stare at him until he explodes for it.

Yeah, no. This was getting awkward, “I’m gonna–”

“Why didn’t you tell me Sheila betrayed you?” 

Jason felt his eyebrows shoot off of his forehead and into the sun. Bruce? Trying to fix preconceived notions and willingly opening up for a conversation that would definitely involve emotions? 

Jason almost said, Because I was dead , but he didn’t. They just watched him die again, saying that would be cruel, and he needed Bruce to get his head back in the game instead of staring at him like he was about to turn into an apparition.  

Master at compartmentalization my ass . “Can we have this conversation at a different time? Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

And with that, he left for the thrift store.

There was a bitter sense of nostalgia. This was his Gotham. The Gotham he knew before he died. The skyline, the corner stores, the types of small crime that’s still around, but overshadowed by the growing number of crazies in Gotham.

There were even people he remembered who had died years ago. People he couldn’t say goodbye to because he himself had died. 

Right. Clothes.

He was really tempted to get Bruce a Batman shirt for shits and giggles, but who knew how far back they’d go before they managed to get back to their time. So he chose something relatively timeless for both Bruce and Dick. T-shirt, jeans, jacket. No designs that would date them. Also a duffle bag to keep their suits in.

He was just around the corner when Dick spoke into the com.

“Jason, someone’s coming into the alley.”

Now Jason wanted to throw up. He had to close his eyes and tell himself that there were no hands grabbing at him or his clothes. There was not one forcing him to do anything. “Does he have red hair? Balding with a horrible comb over?”

“Yeah.” A beat of silence, “I hate not doing anything. First with the Joker and now with… wait. He’s leaving.”

Jason almost tripped over his boots, but then picked up his pace. “What?”

“He definitely saw you– the younger you. He walked up to you, looked like he was debating something and then walked away.”

He can’t be. In a messed up way, the man saved him. If the man didn’t pimp him out, he would’ve froze to death. He would’ve never fought as hard as he did to find real shelter. He would’ve never lived long enough to meet Bruce. 

Jason rounded the corner into the alley. The man was long gone. Just… leaving little Jason to die.

He knelt next to himself. God, this version of him was even smaller than the one before. If he didn’t know he was supposed to be 10, he would think this kid was eight. His cheeks were sunken from the lack of food, and his face was pale, edging on blue. Hypothermia. Maybe even frostbite at this point.

“Jay, you gotta wake up. It’s too cold for you to fall asleep.” He placed a finger to his neck. 

Ice cold, and pulse too slow, but he cradled himself close, hoping he could will heat back into him. He doesn’t die here. Why is this version of him dying?

Jason placed a hand at the base of his skull, and rubbed circles into his back with the other. He doesn’t remember who used to do that with him, Papi or Bruce, he just remembers nights in the League when all he wanted was that feeling again.

Though, Bruce was holding his dead body like this, so maybe it was him.

He felt his younger counterpart shift the slightest bit in his arms, “ Papi? ” it was barely above a whisper.

Jason knew he looked a lot like him, the only thing that differentiated them from each other was his eyes, and the vitiligo. “ Mi alma.”   My soul . Ironic. God, Papi hasn’t called him that since he was seven. He’d come into their apartment after work– and not the job with Two-Face, his job before that– and be happy to see both him and Mami.

Little Jay gave him a tired smile, that somehow still held the power of the sun. “You came.” Had he always smiled that bright? Even after the streets had hardened him? 

“You needed me.” And he did, but Papi would also be dead with time. 

“‘M tired.” Little Jason wasn’t even shivering. He didn’t even have enough energy to do that. Meaning that, trying to warm him up would be a waste of time. 

“Do… Do you want to rest?” He wasn’t supposed to die here. Yet, he won’t make it. This… this doesn’t make any sense.

Little Jay gave him one slow nod, as he tucked his face into Jason’s chest.

“Alright… Alright. I’ll tell you a story, then. I know you love them.” He took a breath. He couldn’t tell him the poem he had told the 15 year old him. He knew more than one though. “ Two roads diverged in a yellow wood; And sorry I could not travel both; And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could; To where it bent in the undergrowth.

“Then took the other, as just as fair; And having perhaps the better claim; Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there; Had worn them really about the same,

“And both that morning equally lay; In leaves no step had trodden black; Oh, I kept the first for another day; Yet knowing how way leads on to way; I doubted if I should ever come back.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh; Somewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—” He could feel the last of life simmer out. Like someone had placed a lid on top of a candle. “I took the one less traveled by; And that has made all the difference. ” He placed a kiss into Little Jay's forehead and cleared his throat, “May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life.”

Bruce and Dick climbed down from the fire escape. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, until Bruce spoke up, “Not time travel. Alternate Realities.”

It was like saying the words spurred up the bright lights around them. 

This is going to be worse than that time with Rayner.

[cookeybg]

The Colony Possessed - Chapter 5

Title: The Colony Possessed

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

Narrators: Hal Jordan, Barry Allen, OC - Kam, John Constantine, Harley Quinn, will add others as chapters progress

Honorable Mentions: Wally West, Talia Al Ghul, Damian Al Ghul, Black Mask (Sionis)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to Know: Cryptid Batfamily, maybe a bit spooky, Hopefully a bit amusing, Gotham LOVES Batman and she always will, it's concerning

[The Colony Possessed Table of Contents]

Chapter 5 - Batsy and I are a packaged deal

Harley Quinn sat prettily on the polished wooden desk. It was large and smooth to the touch, especially after she had dumped everything on it to the ground, except for the candy dish. It had those yummy caramel hard candies that had a bit of a buttery taste to them. She loved those candies! “You’re gonna fucking pay for what you did!” Black mask yelled. Harley popped a candy in her mouth enjoying the sweet and salty taste, she dumped the whole candy dish into her purse, maybe Mister J would like some later. She looked up to see mister J laugh with all the joy he held inside and then he pressed his forehead closer to the barrel of the gun that Black Mask held. "Go ahead, kill me. See if I stay dead." Harley flinched at the crack of the gun being fired and the subsequent splintering of wood next to her. With wide eyes she watched Mister J punch the living daylights out of black mask, kicking him when he was down, over and over again. Blood stained his white face from the wound on his forehead. Head wounds were like that, bled too much, tended to take over the show. Mister J's laughter increased into a chaotic cadence until it stopped suddenly. Harley watched him tilt his head and look at a corner of the room his eyes lighting with recognition. He stopped kicking Black Mask, straightened his lapels and bowed. "Hello! Enjoying my skit?" He smiled from ear to ear and was met with silence, but he did not waver. "It's been so long! I've been trying and trying and no matter what I do or who I…play with, you refused to show!" Still bent forward, he curled his fingers in the air, pulling as if he were a mime, to Harley's shock a shadowy tendril formed and Mister J yanked, straining with the effort. The tendrils lashed at their surroundings, dimming the overhead office light, causing papers to fly in all directions. Harley felt the temperature of the room drop, whatever Mister J was doing wasn't right.

“Mister J? What’s going on?” Harley squeaked hugging her mallet to her chest. "What's wrong? Is Batsy not in town, are you bored?" Mister J completely ignored her as his hands encircled a mass of shadows, his fingers digging in. "Come on out, let's play…You and I could have so much fun!" To Harley’s horror, narrowed green eyes appeared followed by a face, hair until a whole dang person was bent upward clutching at Mister J’s hands, it’s mouth a straight line. “We can play with some birds.” Mister J’s voice lowered into that deep tone that gave Harley butterflies in her tummy. The lady’s hair lashed widely against him, causing bleeding welts on his face but Mister J strengthened his hold. “It’ll be fun. I promise. One of them loves a good ol’crowbar.” A black hand shot out and dug into Mister J’s chest. He finally let go of the lady, landing on his knees, coughing up blood, clutching at her thin arm. Harley let out a cry, rushing towards the lady, mallet held high. She was pinned painfully against the wall with a black tendril, chocking her as it kept her aloft. Mister J laughed an awful chocking sound but his eyes softened as he gazed at the lady. “You can’t kill me.” The lady’s eyes sharpened as she pushed Mister J down, causing his spine to bend unnaturally back. “I can.” The lady’s soft voice felt like needles in Harley’s head. “He wouldn’t like it.” Wheezed Mister Jay. “He would miss me. Batsy and I are a packaged deal.” With a moue, the lady pulled her arm out, long sharp fingers left a bloody stain on Mister J’s green vest. He fell to his side, blood spilling from his mouth. She flicked his blood back at him and disappeared, the room becoming brighter. Harley fell to the ground when the tendril vanished. “Mister J!” Harley rushed to Mister J, but he was already standing dusting himself off and brushing his hair back off his face. “Who was that Mister J?” His blue and green eyes landed on Harley, he scanned her face but she wasn’t sure if he was seeing her. “The biggest joke of all time, Harls.” “A joke?” He twirled in place both arms extended upward, laughter echoing in the silent room. “Batsy’s lover! A friend!” He paused, face still pointed upward. “Competition.” He looked forward, arms going limp, his smile turned into a frown. Harley took a step back, she preferred him laughing. With a sneer he kicked Black Mask one last time and stalked out of the room, Harley close on his heels. “Do you want some candy Mister J?”

Joker is always fun to write :)

[ladytauria]

"I'll do it for you, don't think about it." for damitim? Maybe?🥺

<333 i don't think i've written damitim yet, so this was fun~

i did change the wording of the prompt a little to better fit damian's cadence, but i still bolded it like usual.

i hope you enjoy~

[ hurt comfort prompts: I, II, III ]

Timothy won’t stay in bed.

This is unsurprising. He is insufferable about resting on the best of days, and today is far from that. That does not mean Damian appreciates it—especially given he keeps having to walk away from the stove to drag him back.

Soup is, thankfully, a forgiving dish.

“You are supposed to be resting,” he reminds. “Dr. Thompkins was very clear in her instructions. Rest. Hydrate. Take your medicine.”

Timothy coughs into his elbow, swaying despite Damian’s grip on his arm. “I just need my laptop,” he says. The scratchiness in his voice is enough to make Damian wince. He will have to bring him another cup of tea.

“Working on your laptop doesn’t count as resting.” Damian is not given to exaggeration, but he feels as if he has said those particular words at least a few hundred times.

“Dami, it’s important,” Tim whines, and coughs again. “I have to— I’ve got documents to send over, projects to review, a teleconference I can’t afford to miss—”

Damian has been in constant contact with Ms. Fox since Timothy’s visit to Dr. Thompkins. She is, as she has always been, an invaluable asset in Timothy’s care. As such, he knows for a fact that both the teleconference and project reviews have been rescheduled.

The documents are another matter. Damian doubts they are anything the company could not survive without, especially for the few days it will take for Timothy to be well enough that keeping him in bed will be more of a fight than it is worth. However, if sending them will ease his mind…

“Do not worry, beloved. I will do it for you,” he assures, guiding Timothy back into bed with gentle hands.

Timothy blinks blearily at him. “You hate dealing with the company.”

He does. It had been a hard thing to admit, after he spent so long coveting it. “I would do a lot more, if it would ease your mind,” he says, softly. It’s easy to make the admission, when Timothy’s eyes are fever-bright; his face flushed and shiny with sweat. It steals all the sharpness from him.

He is not sure who is more surprised by the tears that well in Timothy’s eyes—Damian, or Timothy himself. He swipes them away hastily, smearing them onto his palms. “Thank you,” he says.

Damian kisses his forehead. “You may thank me by staying in bed.” The scolding in his tone is ruined by the warmth he feels. Being allowed to care for Timothy, to watch over him in his most vulnerable moments… It is nothing short of intoxicating. He still cannot believe it, sometimes, that they have made it here.

“I— alright,” Timothy concedes. His eyelids are drooping. “For a little while.”

Damian hums. “A little while,” he agrees, running his fingers through Tim’s hair. “And then we will renegotiate.”

Timothy replies with a soft, whistling snore.

[deathlysilent13]

DPxDC Fic Snippet: Danny and Damian are Twins AU but it's mean

((HEADS UP BEFORE WE GO IN: This isn't nice. I don't know where it's going, but this isn't nice. There's gonna be mentions of torture, child abuse, manipulation. This isn't an "everything's magically okay" AU and honestly I don't know if it's going to end nicely. Also, this is a continuation of my rewrite of @oliveofvanders's fic here, which isn't posted yet, but feel free to go read what started it, but MIND THE TAGS.))

They move silently, working down into the city proper and slipping through shadows. Tim’s guiding them via the plane’s onboard computer, having figured out where Danyal lived, and they’re nearly there when they hear voices. Damian slips around the corner, Bruce on his heels. Jason ducks around the other side and hears Dick stay with him. There’s a League lookout perched on a roof nearby. 

“I would rather die than go back,” Danyal says coldly, and Jason catches a glimpse of him backed against a wall. 

Talia, standing in front of him, lashes out with a dagger, and had Danyal not dodged it would probably have taken off his ear. “Do not speak to me!” Talia snarls, and Jason’s stomach drops. She turns her attention back to the assassin kneeling before her. “Bring him to the plane. Grandfather will need to remind him of his place before we drop him in Gotham. A Spare has no need to speak.” 

Jason watches Damian lunge katana first at a shocked Talia, face contorted into unbridled rage. He moves at the same time Dick does, stopping the assassin on the roof from interfering while Dick backs up Damian. The fight is short, but brutal. Talia only had the two with her, and Damian was angry enough to get her on the ground in quite possibly record time. 

Jason and Bruce had each taken an assassin out while Dick focused on keeping Damian from actually killing Talia. He doesn’t bother being gentle in knocking the person unconscious, tying them and dropping them with Bruce’s unconscious capture. Dick is holding Damian back, who appears to still be trying to genuinely kill his mother. Danyal hasn’t moved, and the way his eyes lock onto Bruce and his entire demeanor changes sets alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head. 

Bruce approaches, side stepping Talia to get a look at Danyal at last. His approach has calmed Damian, who’s watching them silently. Jason thinks this might just go well until Danyal’s gaze lowers and his hands settle at the small of his back. They all recognize the League’s parade rest and deferential sightline. 

Shit, Jason thinks.

Bruce, as well, stops cold, having recognized the shift. “Are you hurt?” he asks softly. 

Danyal shakes his head once. 

Damian is frowning now, and Dick noticeably doesn’t let him go. “So he does remember his place,” Talia spits venomously, startling everyone. 

Bruce’s gaze is hard when he looks down at her. “Explain,” he barks, and even Jason jolts at his tone. That’s not normal for Bruce, he’s very rarely that calloused. 

Talia coughs lightly, spitting blood upon the pavement. “Father never intended to keep the Spare,” she says without giving Danyal a glance. “However, Damian was attached, so I made sure he stayed in sight so as to not distract Damian from his training for the absence. He’d proved useful when Damian had gotten his right arm caught in a rockslide, his arm providing the nerves and the piece of shredded vein that prevented a complete loss of use of the limb. And again when Slade betrayed the League and destroyed Damian’s left eye.” Damian has gone still.

They all glance at him, but his focus is on Talia. “You hurt him,” Damian whispers, the accusation clear. 

Talia scoffs. “You’re the only reason he kept his life, Damian,” she says with an impressive dismissiveness. “I have no need of him now that you’ve chosen your father over me.” 

Before any of them can strangle her, a muffled shot rings out, blood blossoming across Talia’s abdomen. They all dive, barring Danyal, as the girl from earlier nears them. The gun in her hand is steady, and she looks more than willing to use it again. The boy from earlier slips behind her, heading straight for Danyal without crossing in front of the gun. “Hey, hey, come on,” he murmurs, though they can all hear him. “You’re still in Amity Park, Danny, you’re okay. She won’t take your tongue again. It’s okay, your parents are coming.” 

Damian’s face contorts, but he says nothing as Danyal blinks, shuddering as he takes in a ragged breath and latches onto the boy. “Tucker,” he says quietly, hiding his face against a sweater covered shoulder. 

Headlights come into view then, a giant metal monstrosity stopping close enough that Jason briefly thought they were actually going to hit Bruce. “The next person who comes for my baby is getting thrown through the portal!” a woman screeches as she steps out. The driver follows, somehow bigger than both Bruce and Jason and eerily quiet. Given the looks the boy and girl that had come to Danyal’s rescue share, this is definitely not his normal. 

Talia attempts to rise with the destruction. “What could you possibly want with that one? He’s worth nothing,” she croaks, holding her side. Jason can see the blood now, glinting off the headlights. That’s not an insignificant wound, and he wonders if the girl knows where she hit. 

The man pulls his own gun while the girl levels hers, and Talia’s eyes flick between them. Damian is making a fresh attempt to sink his blade into his mother’s heart. “You’re the only one here who isn’t worth shit,” the man says darkly. “And one way or another, you will never come near my son again.” Jason blinks, watching the woman coax Danyal into the back of the metal vehicle, the kids following with easy familiarity. 

[gerryrigged]

mmkay I've read the first two issues out of G0tham War and

(CUT FOR BIG SALT, lol)

this is so dumbbbbb oh my god 😭 like we knew it was gonna be dumb, artificial conflict, but LORDT.

everyone is OOC, even more than I expected, and the stupid, ridiculous plot hinges on the stupid, ridiculous idea that Selina's dumbass plan would ever, ever work. (Let's train ALL the henchpeople/goons (yes all of them) to be ethical 😌 non-violent catburglars 😌 like Selina 😌 who donate part of their profits to charity 😌 and only target rich people so they're really #hashtagvictimlesscrimes and then they don't have to work for dangerous Rogues and mobsters, yay, they're bettering their lives!!) (this is ~Sophisticated Social Commentary~!)

And it especially depends on her plan working astronomically better than the hundreds of millions of dollars Bruce has poured into similar outreach for the city over literal decades through the Wayne Foundation and other programs, creating and offering people jobs, support networks, etc. that aren't criminal in nature.

but oh, no one is going to bring that up (has the Martha Wayne Foundation ever even existed? haha, none of these Wayne kids know, apparently! they're just going to sit and twiddle their thumbs while Selina yells at Bruce that he's just "...clearly furious because [he's] wasted [his] fortune and [his] brain on bat-cars and punching people, and it took compassion to solve this problem").

Anyway, Bruce's efforts never meaningfully improved Gotham (cough because Batman stories can't be told without a crime-ridden Gotham cough), while Selina's (gasp) actually have! Somehow!

because the Power of Plot demands it, her cartoonish plan apparently works SO well that violent crime is down almost 75%!! wowiee, Catwoman is actually fixing Gotham, which no one has ever been able to do before!! who needs Batman, haha! that's such egg on your face, Batman, how come you never thought of doing something like this before, haha. Just convince the criminals to be non-violent, Batman, haha, what like it's hard. Ha.

So anyway, gosh, the Batkids (minus Damian, who's siding with Bruce, and Jason, who, harkening back to his "control crime" roots, 100% supports Selina) are conflicted. It feels ~weird~ just blithely letting burglars walk right past them into people's homes, but the ~numbers don't lie~, Batman, it's ~working~, maybe we shouldn't interfere and just see where this goes, like Selina asked! Aren't you being a little unreasonable walking out of this both-sides-might-have-a-point debate, Batman?? Also, ohhh nooo, you shouldn't push back so hard against her people because we don't want to start a ~war~, Batman!

I'M GONNA FACEPLANT INTO MY KEYBOARD IT'S SO ABSURD. How can you write anyone in-character when you're stuck twisting them in knots to accommodate such an absurd premise?

And then, when one of Selina's "graduates" is shot and killed during a break-in by a scared woman who'd unexpectedly stayed home when she was supposed to be out of town, the Batkids (minus Damian) act like it's somehow unexpected/out of control for Batman to bring down the hammer on Selina's operation? Like a man didn't just die because of the path Selina set him on? Like a massive surge in crime targeting the rich isn't going to eventually have more such incidents and ramifications down the line, as backlash and escalations hit? Like rich people are not known for vigorously defending their property?? What is your long-term plan here, Selina??

Batman isn't even shown being excessively violent in rounding up Selina's people (for Batman, lol) - just relentless. But Tim shows up and tries to talk him down as if he's putting petty crooks in the hospital again like after Jason's death (he just lasso'd that crook's legs and growled at him?? what is so over the top about that, in vigilante context?? this is completely normal Bat behavior??), making noises about Bruce's health and taking it easy, and oooo, nothing's black and white...

And Dick goes, "He's on a rampage, he's out of control" (WHERE? LITERALLY WHERE? are you perhaps referring to the murderous police-state robot he built and accidentally unleashed on Gotham a few arcs ago (which was ACTUALLY bad and over the top), because there is nothing in this event so far???). And Tim worries about how Batman was so angry, he's worried about what he's going to do, how far he's willing to go, and Babs is like if Selina asks for help, I'd be inclined to give it.

Like if they'd actually showed Bruce escalating and going out of control, losing it on these non-violent thieves, I wouldn't be so enormously peeved about this aspect of it. Granted, I'd still be hella mad about people like Cass and Dick and Tim thinking about supporting Catwoman's (IDIOTIC) plan, especially after a man just died, but they've all seen Bruce go off the rails before, they're very familiar with having to oppose him on those occasions.

But the way this is set up??? No. Just no. Bruce is pissed about the one thief dying, he's not trying to kill the rest of them??

It doesn't make sense, and they all come across as painfully out of character. Standing aside and letting certain crimes happen as a matter of standing policy, because they're Catwoman's people - like you can count on nobody getting hurt because Selina just trained them so well - are you kidding me, what happened to these kids' principles?? Writers and Editorial I am IN YOUR WALLS, STOP CONTORTING CHARACTERS JUST TO FIT THE DUMBASS STORY YOU WANT TO TELL.

Dick: I'm gonna head into Gotham and see if I can talk Bruce off his "moral ledge."

QUOTE UNQUOTE MORAL LEDGE??? DICK GRAYSON of all people referring to Bruce's adherence to his Mission and his Code with sanctimonious, condescending scare quotes???? Like he doesn't also believe in "no life is an acceptable loss" to a reckless, at times self-destructive degree??? Huh????

And this absolutely DUMBASS fight scene where all of the Batkids (minus Damian) fight against Bruce, but the all-powerful Bat-god doesn't need strategy or contingency plans to handle the most dangerous and highly trained vigilantes on the planet, he just goes ahead and one-shots Cass (lmfao????) and Duke and then Steph and Tim at the same time and only Dick and Jason even land blows on him for ~some reason~.

UUUUGH.

Funnily enough, outside that stupid-ass fight scene, Bruce is one of the ones who seems least out of character, considering everything he's been through recently, his paranoia about becoming old and unnecessary and only feeling at home in his Batman suit (we've certainly seen that before 🙄), his Code, and not to mention Zur-En-Arrh (and also a shadowy something else?) lurking in his psyche whispering to him, clearly not actually constrained by the cage Bruce thought he was locked in.

I'm 100% blaming instability and Zur for the bits where Bruce is more obviously wilding (mainly when fighting Jason), but like - at least he has reasons built into the narrative to be slipping like that? Everyone else is just acting that way because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, I guess.

This would all be much more enjoyable if they'd found a way to make Selina's side less ridiculous/more convincing. Like I would actually be interested in seeing Zur-En-Arrh twist Bruce's mind against his family. It was fun for that brief period in the Failsafe arc because we got to see Bruce fight against and eventually overcome it! But I can't even enjoy it here when the whole thing is so frikkin' stupid and being written terribly.

Like clearly Bruce is going to go way, way more off the rails fairly quickly from here, given how Zur is straight up fucking with him at the end (and Vandal Savage??? okay Jan). So siding against him will rapidly become more obviously reasonable, I assume. I just hope the (small) bits where like, Tim expressed worry about Bruce's wellbeing are expanded on, and shared by other characters (Dick??? Cass???), so they can help him with this mental breakdown rather than it being constantly hostile/adversarial.

...Admittedly a bit intrigued by the big Rogue Gathering, teaming up as they don't have minions to do their bidding anymore. Like, fun, evil backlash resulting from Selina's (STUPID) plan? Good! And also a compelling reason for the good guys to eventually band back together and heal this rift? Well, hopefully. :/